Black Sun and the Bat-Lamp (Part 2)

During winter break, Gotham University’s faculty apartments and doctoral student apartments remained open, and most laboratories continued operating. Schiller had only one residence in all of Gotham City—the faculty apartments at Gotham University—and no other home. So when the break was announced, he had nowhere else to go and simply stayed holed up in his office at school, writing papers.

The Psychology Department’s exam results at Gotham University had not been particularly ideal, which meant his evaluation score would not be very high. He needed to publish more articles to raise the rating of this period on his résumé.

Most Gotham University students were idle and undisciplined, and most of their families lived locally. Gotham was not very large, so most students were essentially available at a moment’s notice.

Bruce took advantage of the start of break to organize the psychology club. He seemed quite enthusiastic about it, though that was hardly surprising. Because he needed to keep up appearances, his exam scores could only be considered middling, yet he desperately wanted to learn some skills from Schiller. Using money to organize a club was not a bad choice.

That day, Bruce was carrying materials for the club’s preparations and planned to deliver them to Schiller. He stood outside Schiller’s office, and before he could knock, he heard Schiller speaking on the phone inside.

"…Have you considered a lobotomy? It’s inhumane? And letting him run wild around the hospital is humane? How is Madam Adela doing? Still refusing to wear a straitjacket?… How about this? I’ll introduce you to a few female gang enforcers from Mary Street. Have them work there as nurses, and they’ll settle it in no time…"

"That Novman is refusing treatment too? And refusing medication? I looked through his file before. He has a grudge against the local gangs. Later, I’ll call their boss and have him send this gang leader his regards. He’ll definitely be happy to cooperate with you after that…"

"…Forget those drunks. Whether they’re sick or not, alcohol will tell them… Someone came by selling liquor? Vodka with medicine? I remember that Douglas under you used to work for Gotham’s largest liquor dealer. Have him write a letter to his former boss’s estate, saying the Godfather told him to stop selling alcohol to the asylum. Aren’t those people crazy enough already?"

"The patient in the back alley at the end of Elk Street is caught up in a dispute over his family inheritance. You don’t need to get involved in that mess. Let them settle it themselves. We take lunatics here, not penniless scoundrels full of bad intentions…"

"Tomorrow, I’ll bring my students over. Hold on for one more day. What?… No, you’re worrying too much. One of the students I’m bringing is the Gotham Godfather’s son, and the other…"

At that moment, the door suddenly opened by itself. Schiller turned around and saw Bruce standing in the doorway. He said, "…the other is the richest man in the world."

Having heard the phone call, Bruce suddenly very much wanted to say that perhaps he should not go after all.

This Professor Schiller sounded far too much like a deranged mad doctor.

After hanging up, Schiller saw Bruce standing there in a daze and said, "Come in. I’ve found you a good internship opportunity, considering you’ve managed the club fairly well."

Bruce pursed his lips, then opened his mouth. After hesitating, he said, "Your treatment style is… rather different from what I imagined."

"What did you imagine? That I’d lecture patients at length like I lecture you in class, telling them about the psychology written in textbooks?"

"…Isn’t that how it should be? At the very least, it shouldn’t be…"

At the very least, it should not involve calling gangs and having them threaten people, right? Bruce thought. Was this psychotherapy? This was physical therapy!

Schiller shook his head. "Criminal psychology is a branch of Applied Psychology. The focus of Applied Psychology is application, not psychology."

"If this were Metropolis, I might try having a proper conversation with them. But this is Gotham. More than half the mental patients in Arkham Asylum were forcibly sent there after losing gang conflicts."

"What about the other half?"

"Drunks who drank their brains away, addicts who used drugs until they lost their minds, and people who came here voluntarily to hide from vendettas."

"So there isn’t a single actual mental patient?"

Schiller put his hands on his hips and tapped the desk. "In one giant asylum, why build another smaller asylum specifically to lock up mental patients?"

Bruce wanted to answer, but after thinking carefully, what Schiller said seemed perfectly reasonable. This damned place called Gotham did not need an asylum at all. Everyone here was insane; there were hardly any normal people.

"And what can I do? Cure their insanity? Make them positive, optimistic, and motivated, turn them into kind and normal people? Then after they’re discharged, they might as well be sent straight to the crematorium. They wouldn’t survive three days anyway…"

Bruce asked, "How is Jonathan?"

"You’ll see him yourself tomorrow," Schiller said.

Bruce sat across from him and said, "I’ve thought carefully about that suggestion recently. I do need a solid base. It should be a comprehensive facility combining a prison, warehouse, surveillance room, and laboratory."

"And I plan to establish a comprehensive surveillance system to cover all of Gotham City. Rainy gave me an idea before. I think I can also design a special symbol for myself, so people know who I am and who they should turn to for help."

"Have you decided?"

"Bats. Of course, bats."

"I know it’s bats. I’m asking whether you’ve really decided to fight this city to the bitter end."

Schiller tapped the desktop with the tip of his pen. "You still have room to turn back. Batman is only an eccentric vigilante for now. But once you begin fully taking control of this city and give everyone a way to call on you to fight criminals, you’ll have no way back."

"When people learn that there is a mysterious and powerful hero they can summon whenever they wish, one day they’ll regard it as part of their lives and take it for granted. You’ll get involved in unimaginable troubles because of it. By then, even if you want to let go, you won’t be able to."

Bruce said, "I think I’m prepared. But what makes me doubt myself now is whether I have the ability to do it."

Schiller straightened up and began gathering the documents from his desk. As he did, he said, "Of course you do. And you’re capable of far more than just all this."

"Why do you always seem so confident in me?"

"Because you’re Batman."

With that, Schiller stood and left.

The next day, Schiller and Bruce set out from Gotham University and drove toward Arkham Asylum.

Evans had originally planned to meet them at the university first, but there were some problems with Falcone’s businesses that required his son to handle. He could not begin the internship until two days later, leaving only Schiller and Bruce.

Taking Batman to intern at Arkham Asylum sounded rather strange, but Arkham at this point was not yet the later paradise of talented lunatics. Just as Schiller had said, most people in Arkham were not truly mental patients.

For that reason, Brand, the attending doctor, was nearly being driven insane. He was Schiller’s old classmate and had arrived only two months before Schiller. In his words, working at Arkham Asylum was the greatest hurdle of his life.

As Schiller drove, he recalled what Brand had told him yesterday about the asylum’s current situation. Before they had even gone far from the university, they were caught in traffic.

On a straight road less than two hundred meters long, it took them nearly half an hour to get through. Schiller had thought New York traffic was bad enough, but he had not expected Gotham during both rush hours to be even worse.

Gotham’s basic traffic rule was that life and death were up to fate, wealth and honor up to heaven. Most people drove as though their cars were valuable but their lives were not. Traffic lights existed only to amuse people stuck in traffic, and road signs served only to be kicked when someone suffered from road rage.

Since Schiller’s work and life had always been within Gotham University, and he usually traveled on foot, he had never driven on Gotham’s streets during rush hour.

When the car passed the straight road and entered a roundabout, one wave of cars went by and Schiller did not move. Another wave went by, and Schiller still did not move. By the time the cars in the roundabout had gone around once, Schiller still had not moved.

"Uh… Professor, are you planning… I mean, when are you planning to go?"

"I’m waiting for the signal light. Can’t you tell?"

"But…" Bruce was momentarily speechless. "Are you not very familiar with Gotham’s traffic rules?"

"Of course not. I only finished reading the Metropolis driver’s manual yesterday."

"But that’s Metropolis. Gotham doesn’t have anything like that."

"Then have you ever considered…" Schiller slammed his foot down on the accelerator and violently twisted the steering wheel, "that it’s because there isn’t one that traffic is this damned bad!!!!!"

Bruce rubbed his ears and shifted his body to the side.

In the end, they gave up driving, climbed to the top of the nearest tallest building, and took a Wayne Family helicopter instead.

When they arrived at the asylum, Brand came out to greet them. He was a somewhat plump doctor who looked mild-tempered and always wore a cheerful smile, though he now appeared rather haggard. After seeing Schiller, he warmly hugged him, then shook Bruce’s hand. "You came so early. I thought you’d arrive in the afternoon."

"We left in the morning."

"That’s exactly why I thought you might be stuck in traffic until the afternoon. I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly." As he walked, he said to Schiller, "Those suggestions you gave me were a huge help. I feel like I didn’t come here to treat illnesses, but to act as a judge deciding cases."

"How are the patients?"

"Patients? Oh, the patients…" Brand said.

"The patients who can down two bottles of whiskey and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes after taking their medicine are doing wonderfully. The night before last, they even started a betting pool in the basement storeroom over when I’d resign."

Schiller patted his shoulder. "Don’t take it to heart. That’s just Gotham."

Brand gave a bitter smile. "If I had even one other option, I wouldn’t have come here."

"Isn’t that the same for me?"

Brand shook his head. "We’re not the same. I’m hiding from enemies. Though you are too, actually, if you hadn’t…"

At that, he glanced at Bruce and fell silent. Bruce’s curiosity immediately rose. It seemed Doctor Brand knew something about Professor Schiller’s past.

"All right, let’s get to work," Schiller said.

Brand pushed open the door to his office. "You’ll have to make do with my office. The facilities in this hospital are rather old; this is the only decent place."

"The main problem now is that after the new Police Commissioner took office, many criminals tried through him require psychiatric evaluation certificates. There are also many who are directly planning to reserve beds here."

"Too many people are coming, and their backgrounds are far too complicated. The doctors and nurses here can barely keep up."

Brand grimaced. "You know, those people all come with a pile of trouble. This week, the hospital windows have been smashed eighteen times. At least a dozen Assassins from different factions have gotten in. Four people died, including one unfortunate security guard. And that’s not even counting those desperately trying to smuggle marijuana and hard liquor inside…"

"It seems the situation is far from optimistic, but it’s all right. I have the entire winter break to spend here. Things will improve eventually," Schiller said.

Bruce could not help feeling a chill run down his back.