Just two minutes earlier, the hospital had lost power.
Bale-Batman walked alone through the pitch-black corridor. Only faint moonlight shone at either end of the long hallway, stretching his shadow behind him.
A glance from the corner of his eye showed him a figure standing behind him in the windows of the rooms on either side.
Bale-Batman slowly turned his head, but there was nothing behind him.
Instead of turning back and continuing forward, he turned sideways to face a window set into the corridor wall. Sure enough, he saw the figure behind him again—Schiller, dressed in an elaborate suit.
On the dim glass without any lights, the suit no longer looked so vivid. It brought to mind withered flowers or shed scales. The tall figure sank into the darkness, moonlight flowing down from one shoulder.
"Why are you following me?" Bale-Batman's Adam's apple bobbed.
"Why do you see me?" Schiller asked in return.
Bale-Batman clenched his fist angrily. He stared fixedly at the figure in the glass reflection and said, "Don't act like you can see right through me. You can't."
"How did fighting violence with violence feel?" Schiller asked.
Bale-Batman's fist tightened again. He drew a deep breath and looked at the reflection in the glass. "That was unjust. It was no different from what those bastards trying to overthrow the world did."
"But it felt good."
"I didn't feel that way."
"Someone once told you that resorting to violence was wrong." Schiller's voice slowly echoed through the dark corridor, as though it were echoing across an empty stage. Batman was the only audience member below, yet it also seemed as if there were tens of millions.
"Because of your affection for her, you thought carefully about her advice. Your reason told you that she had a point: