"Hello? Call me Godfather, thank you."
"Good afternoon, godfather. I would like to discuss a business deal with you..."
In the office of Arkham Psychiatric Hospital, Schiller put down the phone. He tugged on the phone cord, blew the ash on the receiver, and poured himself a glass of wine. He picked up the old-fashioned phone, dialed in a circle, and said: "Hello? Brand? Are you in Hawaii?...No, don't worry, just enjoy your vacation, I can take care of it."
After a while, Bruce walked in and put a stack of documents in front of Schiller. Schiller said, "It's time to get off work. Do you want a drink?"
"Thank you, I won't drink."
"You seem a little haggard."
"After all, I haven't slept in almost fifty hours."
"Of course, that new giant bat spotlight you got is always on lately, and the whole Gotham knows that there is a Batman."
"But..." Bruce sighed, he hesitated and said, "Have a drink, thank you."
"What can Batman drink to drown his sorrows?"
Bruce said: "I don't think I should do it. Bats don't know how to light lights and they shouldn't light lights."
Remember URL
Before Schiller could ask, Bruce said: "I set up 6 bat beacons throughout Gotham. In the past few days, they lit up a total of 25 times, 19 of which were pranks."
"So, I designed insurance for them. After that, I received 12 calls for help, all of which were from gangs who wanted me to support them."
"I didn't allow the gangs to use them, so they tried their best to destroy them. Of course, I designed the security program and it worked well. There were poor people and beggars pressing them, and then the next day, they were killed by the gangs."
Bruce covered his face, took a deep breath, and then took a sip of wine. He swallowed the wine with difficulty and said, "Those who cannot be saved will not be allowed to be saved. If this is Gotham, I have to say , well, I thought it was too simple.”
"I knew... no bat could light a lamp," Bruce said at last.
"I suggest you take a few days off. When you encounter a problem, you sacrifice your rest time to solve it. Then you encounter a new problem and continue like this. This is a vicious cycle. You have to stop. This is not beneficial."
Bruce said a little tiredly: "Okay, I'll go back to sleep and come to work tomorrow. I'll copy medical records, answer the phone, do ward rounds, whatever."
The next day, Bruce did go to work on time as he said. Schiller was already sitting in the office, drinking a cup of steaming coffee. Bruce also made himself a cup of Americano and started reading with a paper.
After a while, a female nurse knocked on the door and came in and said: "Doctor, Andre in Room 5 on the second floor has been making a noise. He has been asking the nurse to increase the dose of morphine analgesia, otherwise he will file a complaint against us. .”
Schiller didn't even raise his head and said flatly: "Give him three times the market price. If you make more noise, it will be five times."
Bruce almost choked on his coffee.
"Bird on the third floor wanted us to give him headache medicine. He was in trouble all night last night."
"Tell him that the pill seller fell off the guardrail yesterday and hit his head on the ground. There is no stock now."
"The one in Ward No. 6..." Schiller flipped through the file and said, "...Hall belongs to Gower, does he have some connections? Ask him to send someone in, we will be seven and he will be three."
After the nurse left, before Bruce could speak, the phone rang again. Schiller picked up the phone while looking at the file.
"Hello? The supply of whiskey has been cut off?... Yes, the last bottle is here with me. Who said he had a bar in his hand that day? Let me see... No. 1 on the fourth floor, ask him to get a line from the bar and tell Don't fool him with fake goods, otherwise I'll give him a diagnosis sheet with permanent treatment recommendations..."
Schiller hung up the phone, then picked up the receiver and dialed, and said to the other end of the phone:
"Tell them that killers are not allowed to enter. To come in, they must have a gate pass, which costs one hundred thousand dollars. The door to the inpatient department is fifty thousand dollars. Above the third floor, there is an additional thirty thousand wear and tear fee. If you buy the full gift package, you will get a security patrol map... "
"Hello? Yesterday, the equipment department said that the brainwave machine was broken. Whose is No. 2 on the fifth floor? Old Bender from the East District? Donate a machine and ask him to take the person away. Come over later to get some rehabilitation advice."
After hanging up the phone, Bruce said: "Professor..."
Before he could finish speaking, the phone rang again, and Schiller picked up the answer and said, "Hello?... No agreement? Tell him that the twin brothers from the south are offering $500,000, and it's not a buyout. If he doesn't agree, then He won’t get a penny from the liquor business here.”
"Hello? No, the Falcone family is responsible for the security of Arkham Asylum now. If he wants to force his way in, let him do it. The godfather says hello to him."
As soon as Schiller hung up the phone, Bruce saw the opportunity and said, "Is there something wrong with this..."
"Hello? How many people are there tomorrow?... No, no, that little vulture can't squeeze out much money. It's far worse than his father. Let him go to prison. I won't accept rags here... He got his father's property. Okay? Well, Ward No. 7 on the second floor is for him...what? A medical certificate? That's another price..."
"...Delay the remaining three until next month and let the judge find an excuse. Diarrhea or something. There is no room on the fifth floor...There is still a policeman? A rogue policeman? Has he been discovered?...We are here People with mental illness will not be admitted if they have intellectual disabilities. If they want to come in, they can go to their old employer..."
"Who else? No, he can't...has been arrested? Then let the police put the evidence back and find the guy named Bullock. He will understand..."
After Schiller finished his work, he looked up and saw Bruce looking at him. The look in his eyes was complicated, with a bit of shock of "How could it be like this" and a bit of contempt of "Sure enough".
"Don't look at me, the hospital is running fine now, isn't it?"
"but……"
Bruce opened his mouth. He wanted to question Schiller, but he didn't know where to start.
"I made a deal with Falcone. He manipulated the Black Gloves to provoke some well-connected gangsters, and then asked the police chief under him to arrest people for trial. I issued them psychiatric diagnosis certificates and admitted them to the hospital. As for what happened next , then it depends on whether their employer or enemy pays more."
Bruce stared at Schiller, who spread his hands and said, "What? Do you think it's incredible? Or do you really think I'm as good a person as Harvey? What makes you have this illusion?"
Bruce was speechless.
In the next few days, Bruce watched helplessly as Schiller joined after being unable to defeat... No, it wasn't just joining, but he was extremely creative and created a new Gotham-style industrial chain out of thin air.
His good professor integrated into Gotham at the speed of light without looking back, and became even better than his predecessors.
But Bruce still couldn't say anything. In this perfect Gotham industrial chain, only the gangs were injured.
From a consequentialist perspective, the gangs were defrauded of their money, Arkham Asylum quickly established order, the medical staff were safe, and the various gang members in the hospital were extremely well-behaved. When Bruce went to check the wards, he found that these gangs Hell, the gang boss would say thank you to him!
They thought that Bruce was a doctor who could prescribe painkillers for them. Several gang bosses saw that he was close to Schiller and even handed him cigar covers every day, hoping that Schiller would let go so that they could get involved. .
Once, Bruce went to see a case with Schiller. During a break, he heard the gang boss next door chatting.
"Colt is a bad boy, a complete bastard. He got absinthe himself and had someone destroy another store. Just to monopolize the liquor business here, he had a conflict with the twins..."
"If you ask me, he did it very neatly. After all, it is a big business worth millions of dollars."
"Are there really that many?"
"The red head downstairs earned 20,000 yuan a week by selling cigarettes here! Who doesn't smoke here? Who doesn't smoke cigars? He can get good goods from the dock, and there are people who come in specially just to get this A smuggling line..."
"Room No. 2 also made a fortune. Who knows that he got lucky and got connected with His Majesty the Godfather. Next quarter, he will have another restaurant."
"The nurse will come over later and put out her cigarettes. Be careful not to offend those girls. They are all black widows under Mother Hongtao..."
In just a few days, what he saw in this hospital gave Bruce an extremely complicated and tangled feeling.
Bruce thought, what would he do if it were him? He thought for a long time and then admitted that he really couldn't think of a more efficient and aboveboard way.
One night, Schiller was in the ward and said to a woman without legs: "It's not bad, the medicine is already taking effect, and the excitement will disappear soon..."
The woman was lying on the bed, very calm, or a little numb, as if she couldn't hear Schiller's words, but Schiller still thought of himself and said: "There have been a lot of cases recently, but it doesn't matter, the psychological diagnosis and treatment is almost over... …”
His voice was perfect for a night like this, always carrying a calming power.
When Schiller turned around, he found Batman standing behind him. Batman said in a low voice: "Why was she transferred to this hospital?"
"You cured this beggar's physical problems and helped her complete the amputation surgery, but she has some congenital mental problems and was sent in before..."
Schiller glanced at Batman. The corners of his mouth were always downward. Compared to the day, he always looked colder and sharper, making it difficult to get close.
"You seem to be surprised, what? You don't think that I will only join the gang, right? What makes you have this illusion?"
Batman remained silent, and Schiller ignored him. He turned around, lowered the woman's bedside, and then pulled up the sheets.
Schiller didn't look at Batman, but just asked himself: "Are you disappointed?"
"For this ungrateful city, for those who are not worth saving and won't let you save anyone?"
"Do you think Bat-Light's decision is the right one?" Batman's deep voice echoed in the ward.
Schiller paused and said:
"Don't be disappointed. The black sun is also the sun. It is true that bats cannot light up lamps, but in the dark night, the lamps lit by bats are also lamps."
The cold light shone on the clean white sheets of the hospital. Schiller leaned over and straightened the sheets at the corner of the bed.
Outside the window, the lights in Gotham were still dim at night. Schiller straightened up and turned to look out the window. Batman saw that Schiller was against the light, and the moonlight cast a long shadow behind him.
Batman looked up and saw his shadow on most of the wall and ceiling, a pitch-black bat with pointed ears.
A bat can't light a lamp. He doesn't even have a lamp that can illuminate himself. There has never been a lamp in the world that has lit up for him. There hasn't been a single firefly in many years.
But now, this bat decided to learn to light a lamp for the dark night here and for this hopeless city.
Batman also looked out the window, at the almost invisible lights in the pitch black. He thought, if in this city full of absurdity, the sun will no longer rise one day, at least in the end, The night before, in this cold night with weak lights, there was still a lamp he lit.
A lamp that is useless even if it is bright, a lamp that is useless even if it is bright.
A lamp lit by a bat.
