"Hello? Please transfer me to the Godfather, thank you."
"Good afternoon, Godfather. I have a business to deal with you..."
In the office of Arkham Asylum, Schiller hangs up the phone. He pulls the telephone cord and blows off the dust on the receiver, then pours himself a glass of wine. He picks up the vintage telephone, dials a number, and says, "Hello? Brand? You're in Hawaii?... No, don't worry, enjoy your vacation, I can handle it."
After a while, Bruce walks in and places a stack of documents in front of Schiller. Schiller invites, "It's closing time. Would you like a drink?"
"Thank you, I don't drink."
"You look a bit haggard."
"Ugh, I haven't slept for nearly fifty hours."
"Of course, your newly created giant bat light shines lately. The whole Gotham knows there's a Batman."
"But..." Bruce sighs, hesitates for a moment, and gives in, "Bring me a drink, thanks."
"What's troubling Batman that he needs a drink to drown his sorrows?"
Bruce frowns, "I feel like I shouldn't have done this, Batman would never turn on a light, let alone set signal."
Before Schiller can ask, Bruce continues, "I've set up six Bat-Signal towers throughout Gotham. In the past few days, they light up a total of 25 times, and 19 of those times are pranks."
"So, I design a security measure for them. Afterwards, I receive 12 calls. All from fights among mobs, asking me to support them."
"I don't allow gangsters to use them. So they are causing havoc. Of course, I design a security program, and it's quite effective. Poor people and beggars go press on them, and the next day, they get killed by the gangsters."
Bruce covers his face, takes a deep breath, and then takes a sip of his drink. He struggles to swallow it, saying, "Those who are beyond help are not allowed anyone be saved. If this is Gotham, then I have to say, well, I am too naive."
"I knew... no bat would light," Bruce concludes.
"I suggest you take a few days off. When faced with difficulties, sacrifice your rest time to solve them. And when faced with new challenges, continue doing so. You have to break free from this vicious cycle.It is pointless."
Bruce sighs wearily, "Alright, I'll go back to sleep. Tomorrow, I'll come to work, copy medical records, answer phone calls, do rounds. Do anything I can do."
The next day, Bruce indeed arrives at work on time as he had said. Schiller is already sitting in the office, drinking a steaming cup of coffee. Bruce also makes himself a cup of Americano, takes a paper, and starts reading.
After a while, a nurse knocks on the door and says, "Doctor, Andre in room 5 on the second floor is noisy. He keeps asking nurses increase the dosage of morphine, or he'll complain us."
Without lifting his head, Schiller calmly answers, "Give it to him at three times the market price, and if he keeps shouting, five times."
Bruce almost chokes on his coffee.
"Theodore on the third floor wants us to give him painkillers. He was unsettled all night."
"Tell him,the pill dealer falls off the railing yesterday, headfirst. We don't have any stock now."
"The one in Room 6..." Schiller flips through the files and recalls, "... Hall or Goul, has some ways? Tell him to send his man in, he can take 30%."
After the nurse leaves, before Bruce can speak, the phone rings again. Schiller picks up the phone while looking at the files.
"Hello? Whiskey supply runs out?... Yes, the last bottle is with me. Who says he has bars? Let me check... Room 1 on the 4th floor, have him run a line from the bar, tell him not to bring in any diluted stuff to fool me, or else I'll give him a permanent treatment recommendation..."
Schiller hangs up the phone, then picks up the receiver and dials a number, speaking into the phone.
"Tell them, no killers are allowed in. They must have a gate pass to enter. $100,000 per pass, $50,000 for the main hospital entrance, and an additional $30,000 for floors above the third due to wear and tear. If they buy the full security package, add a patrol map..."
"Hello? The equipment department reports the brainwave machine isn't working yesterday. Who is Room 2 on the 5th floor? East End, old Bander? Tell him,one machine,one patient.Remember come to pick up the rehabilitation recommendation later."
After hanging up the phone, Bruce says, "Professor..."
Before he can finish, the phone rings again. Schiller answers, "Hello?... Not deal? Let him know the twin brothers down south offer $500,000, and they don't need buyout. If he still doesn't agree, he won't get a single penny from the liquor business here."
"Hello? No, the security work at Arkham Asylum is handled by the Falcone now. If they insist, let them do it. The Godfather sends his regards."
After hanging up the phone, Bruce seizes the opportunity and interrupts, "Isn't there something...?"
"Hello? How many people tomorrow?... No, that little Vulture can't yield any profit; he's far from his father. Send him to prison. Here isn't a dump... He manages to take over his father's business? Alright, leave Room 7 on the 2nd floor for him... What? Medical certificate? That's another price..."
"...Delay the remaining three until next month. Have the judge come up with an excuse, like fever or something. There's no room on the 5th floor... There's also a police officer? Bad cop? Discovered?... We treat psychopaths here, not dysgnosia. If he wants to come in, tell him to go back to his old boss..."
"Anyone else? No, he won't work... He's already been caught? Then ask the police return the evidence and find that guy called Block; he'll understand..."
After Schiller finishes his busy calls, he looks up and sees Bruce staring at him. His gaze is complex - a mix of shock as if to say "how could it be" and contempt as if to say "just as I expected."
"Don't look at me, the hospital runs well, doesn't it?"
"But..."
Bruce opens his mouth, wanting to question Schiller, but can't find the right words to begin.
"I make a deal with Falcone. He orders his men to provoke some rich gangs, then has his police chief arrest and prosecute them. I provide them with psychiatric diagnosis certificates to admit them to the hospital. As for what happens next, it depends on who pays more, their allies or his enemies."
Bruce stares at Schiller. Schiller shrugs and says, "What's the matter? You find it unbelievable? Or do you really think I'm a good person like Harvey? What makes you have such a misconception?"
Bruce remains silent.
Over the next few days, Bruce watches helplessly as Schiller not only joins, but brilliantly creates a new Gotham-style industry chain out of thin air.
His dear professor seamlessly integrates into Gotham with an unbeatable speed, even make it better leaving Bruce at a loss for words. This perfect Gotham industry chain only harms the criminals.
Based on the results, the gangs lose money, Arkham Asylum rapidly establishes order, and the medical staff are safe. Even the members of the various gangs in the hospital become incredibly obedient. When Bruce does his rounds, he finds these bosses damned say thanks.
They regard he as a doctor who can provide them with painkillers. Some of them who find his close relationship with Schiller even offer him cigars every day, hoping to please Schiller and bring their connections into the business.
Once, when Bruce follows Schiller to review a case, during the break, he overhears a conversation next door from a gang leader.
"Colt is a bad guy, a complete bastard. He brings in absinthe himself and destroys peers, all for monopolizing the liquor business here. He has a conflict with those twins..."
"I think he does it quite well. It can bring him millions of dollars."
"Really?Millions?"
"The redhead downstairs, just by selling cigars, makes $20,000 a week! Who doesn't smoke here? Who doesn't smoke cigars? He manages to get the good stuff from the dock, and some people come specifically just to get their hands on this smuggling line..."
"Room 2 strikes it big as well. Everyone knows he gets lucky and makes a connection with the Godfather. He will has another restaurant next quarter."
"The nurse is coming, put out your cigarette. Be careful not to annoy those girls; they are the Black Widows under Heart Mama..."
In just a few days, Bruce witnesses things in this hospital that give him a profoundly complex and conflicted feeling.
Bruce wonders, what would he do if he were in charge? He ponders for a while and then admits ,he can't come up with a more efficient and righteous method.
One evening, Schiller is in a ward, talking to a woman without legs. He says, "Not bad. The medication is starting to take effect. The state of excitement will soon subside..."
The woman lies on the bed, calm, or rather, somewhat numb, as if she can't hear Schiller speaking. But Schiller continues on his own, saying, "There have been quite a few cases recently, but it's okay. The psychological treatment is almost finished..."
His voice suits nights like this, always carrying a calm power.
Schiller turns around and sees Batman standing behind him. Batman's voice is deep as he says, "How did she end up transferred here?"
"You cured the physical issues of this beggar and performed the amputation surgery. But she has some congenital mental problems and was previously sent here..."
Schiller glances at Batman. His mouth always turns downwards, and compared to daytime, he always seems cold and sharp, making it difficult for others to approach him.
"You seem surprised. What? Do you think I only associate with the mobs?What makes you have such a misconception?"
Batman remains silent. Schiller ignores him, turns around, adjusts the head of the woman's bed, and pulls up the blanket.
Schiller doesn't look at Batman; he just asks himself, "Are you feeling disappointed?"
"For this ungrateful city, for those who are not worth saving and don't let you save others?"
"Do you think the Bat-Signal decision is right?" Batman's low voice echoes in the ward.
Schiller pauses for a moment before saying, "No need to be disappointed. The black sun is still the sun. Indeed, the bat will never turn on a light. But in the darkness, the light bat ignite is still the light."
The cold light casts on the pristine white bed sheets as Schiller bends down and smooths the corner of the bed.
Outside the window, Gotham's night still remains dimly lit. Schiller stands up straight, turns his head to look outside. Batman sees that Schiller is backlit by the moonlight, casting a long shadow behind him.
Batman looks up and sees that most of the walls and ceiling are covered in his shadow, a black bat with pointed ears.
Bats don't light lamps. He doesn't even have a single light to light himself. There has never been a light that shines for him in this world, no flickering fire for many years.
Yet now, this bat has decided to learn how to light for this dark night, for this city that is beyond salvation.
Batman also looks out the window, gazing at the faint, barely visible lights in the pitch-black darkness. He thinks, if one day this absurd city will no longer see the rising sun, then at least on the eve of doomsday, in this dimly cold night, there will be a light that he has ignited.
A useless light, lighting despite its uselessness.
A light ignited by a bat.