"I found the truck and went back to tell them that it really could serve as a shelter to safely get through the night. They cheered and high-fived one another, but what puzzled me was that Jason did not seem very happy. He kept frowning, looking worried..."
Flowing English script appeared on the pristine white paper. In the afternoon, faint sunlight streamed through the curtains, and as it brushed across the words, the scene they depicted seemed to brighten.
The paper was slowly lowered. Schiller, sitting behind it, adjusted his glasses, picked up his coffee cup with his other hand, and took a sip.
Victor leaned over from beside him and asked, "What are you reading? A paper?"
"No, more like a travel journal. Bruce wrote it. Want to take a look?" Schiller handed the stack of papers to Victor. After taking them, Victor skimmed them, then carefully read the first page. Somewhat surprised, he said, "Bruce really wrote this? The actions of the 'I' in here don't seem much like Bruce..."
"I told you, he's much better now. If he hadn't recently reflected deeply and worked through a lot of things, all you would have seen would be some incomprehensible philosophical rambling, not a more readable travel journal like this."
Victor nodded and turned to the second page. "His writing is actually quite good," he said. "Concise and straightforward, yet fairly elegant. He captures the setting and atmosphere very well..."
Schiller picked up his empty coffee cup and walked over to the coffee machine. Looking back, he said, "Keep reading. You'll find even more surprises."
Rich coffee dripped into the cup, the level slowly rising, just like the streets of Gotham being battered by heavy rain once more after the sun had gone down.
"Quick! Get up here! You're