At Wayne Manor, Schiller was playing chess with the Pale Rider. But chess was merely a pastime; Schiller had come to see the Pale Rider on serious business.
"I've been here for so long, and you haven't paid me a cent in salary. You haven't even given me an official position. Don't you think you're being a little too stingy?" Schiller said.
The Pale Rider glanced at the mountain of paperwork piled beside him and sighed. "You shut down City Hall. I don't even have an assistant, and I spend every day dealing with these documents. Am I supposed to thank you?"
"That won't be necessary. I'm not someone who values verbal gratitude very much. If you really want to thank me, arrange a position for me," Schiller replied.
The Pale Rider had already grown used to Schiller's inability to take a hint. He merely sighed and said, "I'm the mayor, not God. Positions have to be assigned according to the law..."
"But I happen to be qualified." Schiller handed over a stack of documents. "I am now applying to become the director of Arkham Asylum. You only need to sign this appointment notice."
The Pale Rider frowned as he looked through the documents. They contained Schiller's identity information, but it had to be forged. Schiller was not even from this universe, so where could he have gotten an identity?
Still, he had to admit it was his own oversight. Since such a conspicuous living person had been hopping around here for so many days, leaving him undocumented was no solution. They really should add him to the registry.
The Pale Rider looked over Schiller's identity information and found nothing excessive about it. Schiller was obviously the sort of highly educated intellectual who had received advanced schooling; his academic qualifications