Schiller's solemn counselling session with Gordon ended the instant Bruce pushed open the door.
Three pairs of eyes locked on each other.
Schiller broke the silence first.
"Well, Mr. Wayne, didn't I tell you your session quota for this week was already used up? Why didn't you call ahead to check whether someone else had the office booked?"
Bruce looked just as awkward—he hadn't expected Gordon to be here. He was only here to drop off an invitation. And now Gordon had seen him. Which meant Gordon had probably put two and two together. Yet the fact Gordon hadn't confronted him, hadn't shown up at Wayne Manor to press the issue, told Bruce something else: Gotham's cleanest cop still didn't trust Batman.
That stung. Bruce knew Gordon was one of the rare good ones. If Gordon didn't believe in him, Batman would have to prove himself useful before that changed.
Schiller leaned back, smiling faintly.
"Seems fate really wants us to form a little alliance. Since we're all here, why not drop the masks for a minute? We all know what happened that night. None of us completely trusts the other two, but that's fine. We can still work together for one common goal—like putting my colleague Dr. Jonathan Crane, purveyor of fear gas, behind bars."
Gordon frowned but didn't bother hiding anymore. If this mess came out and his corrupt boss or the commissioner learned he'd been quietly investigating who was trying to hire Crane, he'd be finished. He could only hope Schiller and Bruce would stay neutral enough to offer help—or at least advice.
"The situation's worse than you think," Gordon muttered. "Victor—the current commissioner—was indicted once for selling high-grade sedatives, walked away scot-free, and got promoted instead. People whisper that Sal's backing him, but no proof. My direct superior, Lantaros? I've seen him at the Red Crow club. These old cops are too slippery—no one can catch them dirty."
Schiller sighed. Gordon was still being polite; the truth was Gotham PD was rotten to the core. From the top brass to the beat cops, half were mob errand boys. Even the 'kind' ones only stayed clean enough to keep their side hustle money flowing.
"You know Harvey Bullock?" Schiller asked.
"Fat guy in logistics who drinks like a fish and chain-smokes? What about him?"
In the comics, Bullock was often drawn as a sloppy, drunk slob—but sometimes he was more: a good cop hiding under a bad-cop act. He'd play buddy-buddy with gangsters while secretly passing Gordon info. In one arc, he and Gordon even took down Joker without Batman's help.
"I've heard about him," Schiller said. "He trained at the Star City police academy. An old Metropolis cop once told me Bullock wants to be good, but when the gangs retaliated against him, he was forced to put up a filthy façade and cosy up to crooks just to survive."
"You're saying I should trust him?" Gordon asked.
Bruce cut in: "You can't fight this war alone. Without allies inside the GCPD, you'll never topple your bosses—or the mob behind them."
Schiller nodded. "Try sounding him out. Don't show all your cards. If he's the man I think he is, he's already watching this case. Work the classic good-cop/bad-cop routine—one in the open, one in the shadows. At the very least, you'll trip your bosses up."
"…I'll talk to him," Gordon agreed reluctantly.
"As for your commissioner," Bruce added, "I'll investigate him—under my other identity."
Schiller smirked. "And I'll take a look at Sal and the Red Crow."
Both men turned to him, doubtful. Gordon said, "Professor, Gotham gangs aren't like anywhere else. They're rabid wolves, no morals, no restraint. You step into their den, you won't walk out."
"Exactly that's my why I should go now," Schiller said dryly. "Give it two months and finals hit—I'll have no time. And honestly? Most of my students would rather blow daylight hours at nightclubs than open a textbook."
Bruce rubbed his nose awkwardly. Gordon shot him a look and added, "I may not be much older than you, but if you really plan to keep running around in tights, rein in your nightlife. Half the women in Gotham have been in your bed. You really think none of them are honeytraps?"
"…I'll keep that in mind," Bruce muttered.
Bruce's reputation was an open secret. Even at eighteen, he was absurdly handsome, enough to own the city's gossip pages. Every week the tabloids printed new photos with new arm candy—never the same woman twice.
Schiller wasn't worried about femme fatales assassinating him. He was worried about Bruce's kidneys. Even Batman couldn't keep up this lifestyle forever without needing miracle supplements.
Sure enough, back at Wayne Manor, Alfred was waiting with a medical report.
"Sir, I took the liberty of cancelling tonight's date. Your last exam numbers were… troubling."
Bruce froze, remembering Schiller's mocking tone earlier. With a cough, he muttered, "Cancel all the month's dinners."
Alfred blinked. "…Including Miss Christine? You invited her two months ago."
Bruce waved it off. "Yes. No time for dates."
The butler's eyes narrowed. "If this is about… a change in preferences, I trust you'll inform your loyal butler—"
"Alfred!" Bruce groaned. "…Fine. Keep Christine. She is gorgeous."
Alfred left. Moments later, Bruce's phone buzzed. Schiller.
"You've got a date with Christine, captain of the Nightingales cheer squad?" Schiller asked the instant Bruce picked up.
Bruce stiffened. Does he actually read minds?
Not quite. Schiller went on: "She bragged to her friends about snagging Little Wayne. Two days later, she vanished. HR's Anna asked me to reach out."
Bruce frowned. "We haven't even gone out yet. Our dinner's in two weeks. You know my… schedule."
"Then her disappearance has nothing to do with you? Interesting."
Schiller's tone sharpened. "Christine was cautious. Pretty, yes, but careful. She never left campus alone. And now she's gone."
Bruce tensed. "Could it connect to Crane? Did she know him?"
"Hardly. A girl like her and Jonathan? Oil and water. She was the social butterfly of campus. He was a shut-in lab rat."
"Then what—"
"Then you, Bruce, have a new assignment," Schiller said. "Find your missing date before the date actually arrives."
"…Professor—"
"The Nightingales are Gotham University's pride. Losing their captain before the playoffs? Catastrophic. Two weeks till the game. Fail to bring her back, and I'll fail you."
"…You can't—hello? Hello?!"
Bruce groaned, lowering the phone. He made a few calls of his own. Sure enough, Christine was beloved by her squad; without her, routines were collapsing. The football players were furious too. With Jonathan's trial distracting faculty, Schiller had been drafted as substitute babysitter—dragging Batman in as backup.
Now Bruce had to face facts: A beautiful woman had vanished on campus. In Gotham, that only ever ended one way. But Schiller's note haunted him—Christine had bragged about dating Bruce Wayne before she disappeared.
Coincidence? Or the reason she vanished is because...?