Bruce's arm fell to his side. He silently watched Schiller, as though trying to discern something from him. But unfortunately, all he saw was emptiness, like wind, like fog—yet there was nothing there, just as when he looked at this pack of lunatics.
This was not a man who could be called special. He was so ordinary that he seemed out of place among most of the people in this room. He looked as though he belonged in an office at some university or library, not among them, standing at the end of this drama.
Bruce saw that Schiller held a roll of film in his hand, seemingly just removed from somewhere. It bore many images as well, looking like the beginning of a story.
"Where should I begin..." Bruce heard Schiller murmur. "If I have to start from the beginning, it'll be too long."
"Please, sit." Schiller pointed to a chair beside him.
Bruce smiled. He stood where he was and looked at Schiller. After watching him for a while, he walked over, sat down, and crossed one leg over the other. "I thought things between us would be a little more tense. Or is this skin I'm wearing doing its job?"
"I'm afraid it was originally meant to have the opposite effect." Schiller pulled a chair closer and sat down as well, picking up a pen from the table. "If the one who appeared here were really my disappointing student, he would have been dragged in."
Bruce gave Joker Jack an inscrutable glance and pursed his lips, thinking he had hidden the gesture. Schiller turned to look in the other direction, where a black cat smoothly leaped onto his lap.
Schiller stroked Bat-Cat's head. Bat-Cat raised his head and narrowed his eyes, then fixed Bruce with an unblinking