"Ms. Quizel?"

"Ahhh, I'm here, come here." Harley rushed to the office door in panic. She was thinking about a failed relationship just now.

"This man claimed to be Joker, his age is unknown, and he committed several murders, robberies, explosions, terrorist attacks, and shot and killed several police officers."

The dean took a photo, but Harley didn't care. She just felt that these things were boring.

As a good girl, Harley has never drunk alcohol before she became an adult and has never been to any party.

Even on Christmas night, she only received a stack of books as Christmas gifts.

She has a good figure, but she doesn't like to dress up. She just wore a thick white coat and black-framed glasses every day.

Dare you believe it? She hasn't even put on makeup for more than 20 years. She doesn't like any man because she can see through their dirty thoughts at a glance.

But she still symbolically agreed to a few men who looked pretty, and then she was too bored to see the group of men making greasy remarks.

But so what?

Even though her life was filled with these decaying smells everywhere, she still had no choice.

She is such a good girl who will not rebel at all, and will be like this forever. Today is like this, tomorrow will still be like this.

Her life will never change.

"A clown is it? OK, I'll go now." Harley yawned and was about to take over the file.

One hand reached out and picked up the file first.

"Sorry, I'm late." A magnetic voice came.

The middle-aged man who speaks out is not a handsome guy in the traditional sense, but he has deep eyes and high cheekbones...

What impressed the most was his mouth, which was both gentle and cruel and ruthless.

"Ms. Quizel, let me do it, I'm very interested in this patient."

Harley was a little hesitant, and she always felt that she was going to miss something very important.

But in the end she nodded, she was just a lunatic, and at most she was a lunatic with more research value.

"As you wish, Mr. Hannibal."

Dr. Hannibal, a famous psychologist who was transferred from another place, would be a better candidate than me. She thought to herself, and walked out of the office with a brisk pace.

……………………

"Hmph~" The green-haired man was tied to a restraining chair, and only his head could move freely on his body.

The doctor was still wearing a suit, and every corner of the white shirt was taken care of as clean and neat as obsessive-compulsive disorder, with an extraordinary temperament.

"Red stewed squid, cut the knee bones and tie them up with a clapper rope to prevent the leg meat from drying out the moisture layer and then wrap it with a layer of dry flour.

Sprinkle some salt and pepper, marinate for half an hour, put it in a pan and fry it. Don’t exceed 1 minute each noodles, and just pass the oil quickly.”

Hannibal skillfully opened the lid of a silver container on the table, and in an instant, a faint fragrance overwhelmed the rosin inside the house.

"It's delicious with white wine, vegetables (onions, carrots, tomatoes).

The doctor took out an old record player from his bag, which was Schumann's famous piano piece "Kinderszenen".

"Try it." He gentlemanly used a silver fork to raise a piece of meat and delivered it to the patient's mouth.

"Its…delicious." The clown savored it carefully, and a trace of curve was raised at the corner of his mouth.

While eating, the clown spit out a string of words in a vague way.

"I only have one problem..." The clown moved his body gently, leaned against the back of the chair, and looked at the doctor who was enjoying dinner at Rice.

"Why didn't you sit next to me?"

The doctor's hand cutting red meat paused, raised his eyes slightly, glanced at the clown, and then continued to enjoy his dinner without saying a word.

"We all know that this location should belong to you, the doctor. You are the one who should go to the asylum most."

The clown leaned forward and said with a smile.

The doctor was still enjoying dinner in Slow Rees, but the clown suddenly burst into laughter without the doctor's answer.

On both sides of the table, one is crazy and crazy, and the other is silent and elegant.

The doctor picked up a handkerchief and wiped his mouth carefully, as if he had not heard the clown's question.

"Floyd said that it is often the past that determines the present us. But you are afraid of your past."

"Fear? No no no... The few pasts left in my chaotic memory are not worthy of my fear..."

"Then what are you hiding? What are you hiding under this clown's mask?"

"It's not as complicated as you said. Doctor, this is just a thought."

The clown looked around and his body kept shaking, like an ADHD patient.

"Is that true? What is the thought of a patient with paranoia, paranoia, schizophrenia, and psychopathic group disease?"

Hannibal took a sip of the wine,

"You're just a murderer."

As he said this, his face had no sign of condemnation, but instead he had a faint smile.

“The killer wrote you a poem, are you going to let his love go to waste?”

(The murderer wrote a poem for you. Do you want to let him down?) (In fact, it feels more like a single word, but I am not very relieved to the English level of this readers...)

The clown laughed and replied.

"Of course not. A human tragedy is not death, but waste." Hannibal finally raised his head, and he looked at the man in front of him seriously.

"You are so wasteful, sir. How perfect... but corroded like this..."

He looked at the clown and murmured something in his mouth.

"You can't blame me, doctor, you know, things always get worse before they get better.

Our world is really funny. Speaking of which, do you want to know where the scar on my face come from?”

Hannibal stared at the clown's face as if he was trying hard to analyze his heart, and he tried to understand the world in the clown's eyes.

"Don't be like those idiots before, doctors. You're completely different from them."

The clown suddenly stood up suddenly, and he broke free from his restraint!

He moved his neck and wrists, showed a classic smile at the camera, and said hello.

Strangely, there were no nurses or guards rushing in.

Then he walked to the doctor swayingly, pressed his hand gently on the doctor's shoulder, leaned over and whispered softly in his ear.

“Don’t you know this yourself?

I can feel...you want to transform, and I can feel that you have completed the transformation with the help of something.

Too wonderful, a complex, rational, shrewd, and self-contained creature.

You don't care about those people at all, aren't you? You don't regard yourself as a human being, and your behavior patterns naturally do not belong to the category of human behavior..."

Hannibal was still calm and just gently turned the silver knife in his hand. He seemed not afraid of the craziest criminal Gotham has ever been until...

"Then the question is, what exactly makes you become such a creature...what makes you try to transform?"

As soon as the clown finished speaking, Hannibal's body suddenly tensed, but soon, he relaxed again.

"Do you know? You remind me of an old friend of mine... He became a lunatic because he witnessed his parents being shot when he was 8 years old... So, what about you?"

The clown laughed in a low voice, as if mocking something.

Hannibal closed his eyes and his breathing became rapid, and he remembered the scene again.

The hungry soldiers, the last smile of his adorable sister, and the pot of broth he drank voraciously...

Opening his eyes again, he regained his indifference and his face regained an elegant smile, but this time... he held the tableware in his hand tightly.

The clown seemed to feel something, "Come on, come on..." He kept repeating in a low voice.

The two of them kept in the same position for a long time, but everyone knew that the situation was about to break out.

Suddenly the madhouse had a power outage. The darkness swallowed them, and then there was a huge shock...

………………………………………

The clown and Hannibal woke up in a closed room. The two men, who were in chaos, opened their eyes and saw a male body on the ground.

The scene that seemed like a murder scene did not cause any fluctuations on their faces, and they seemed to be indifferent.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, first carefully observed the surrounding environment, and then found an electronic lock on their ankles. At this time, a puppet doll suddenly drove out slowly in the darkness. It was covered with blush, but it was scaryly pale.

Then it made a weird, fuzzy, low mechanical sound:

“I wanna play a game…”

When I learned that only one person could survive in the room, the clown's mouth squirmed slightly, but there was no trace of uneasiness...

Clang, the electronic lock opened.

Hannibal touched the silver knife and fork in his pocket, walked towards the clown in the corner, and a strange smile appeared on his face...

The clown smiled happily, and they walked to the center of the room and met face to face...

Swish, accompanied by the sound of wail and the sound of blood splattering, a silver knife was inserted into the chest of the corpse on the ground.

And the corpse that was supposed to die in the room was hissing, and it was actually a living person!

Hannibal gracefully wiped the blood on his face, and the clown held his cheek and looked at the scene in front of him with interest.

"Game over." He whispered.
Chapter completed!