"Schiller, I think we really need to have a proper talk." One morning, Bruce stopped Schiller as he was about to leave and spoke to him with great seriousness.
"What are you doing? Don't stop me from going out to look for work. Don't you know how dire things are right now? I've been here for days and still haven't found a proper job." Schiller pushed Bruce's arm aside and tried to head out.
Bruce looked Schiller over. Several days had passed, yet his clothes, shoes, and watch remained perfectly intact. His complexion was rosy, he was full of energy, and he spent more than twelve hours a day looking for work without showing the slightest fatigue.
Schiller tried to leave again, but Bruce stopped him. "No, you can't go out. What you're doing now is too dangerous. Can't you just find a job in Living Hell?"
Schiller thought for a moment and said, "All right. It's not entirely unreasonable. I've wandered around out there for so many days and haven't found anything promising. I haven't tried looking for work right on my doorstep. Fine, I'll give it a try."
Bruce let out a sigh of relief, but before half a minute had passed, his heart was back in his throat, because Schiller headed straight for the water purifier.
Bruce had to put in tremendous effort to drag him back. By then, he had nearly exhausted all his strength. He was more tired than he had been over the previous several days combined, and he could barely stand upright.
Leaning against the railing beside them, he told Schiller, "You can't poison the water supply. You can't threaten every gang here with chemical agents to make them offer you jobs. And you can't collude with the newsboys to intercept purified water