Banner slowly opened the criminal mental patient file in his hand.
On the front page of the file is the prisoner's number, 402001 is printed in bold, the same as on the prison uniform. There is only one nickname "clown" in the name, and the age is also unknown.
But the following criminal records were full of more than ten pages.
Banner: "..."
He seems to understand why the warden doesn't want normal psychiatrists to line up with the clown-the doctor who died in his hands can fill a street hearse, let alone Harley Quinn precedent.
But... He sure can't either.
Banner was silent for a while. At this time, it is impossible for him not to understand what the warden meant—anyway, he just wanted to keep the clown from causing trouble, and forget about treatment.
To be honest, the clown is famous far and wide, and he is also a well-known mental illness. Few people in the world believe that he will be cured.
Banner certainly wasn't so overreaching.
Then he... chat with the clown
Banner: "..."
The clown's treatment in prison was obviously not very good. His dark green hair probably hadn't been washed for a long time, and it lay limply on his forehead, but there was an intermittent humming sound from deep in his throat.
Banner decided to start: "Well, you're feeling... kind of happy now?"
"Well, little green man." The clown's humming was interrupted, and he said with a smile, "I know you."
Banner was a little uncomfortable with the title.
"So... I guess I wouldn't call it 'little'."
"Yes, I'm very happy." The clown suddenly replied seriously, and returned to the previous topic unexpectedly.
Banner searched his superb memory for knowledge that he hadn't mastered yet, thinking about how to answer here.
"Mr. Warden is so wary of me, of course I am happy." The clown said with a smile.
Banner took a deep breath, he shouldn't have to answer.
"Are you happy too?" The clown's low voice seemed to be whispering, "Yes, of course you are happy. He didn't treat you as a monster, he treated you as a tool."
Banner: "..."
"The stupid big green guy is regarded as a crisis by the whole world." The clown said as if talking to himself, "but the warden is different, he understands who you are, he gave you a job, he helps you Repress your own—well, repress that little guy."
Banner: "..."
The clown looked over with a smile: "What do you think, doctor?"
Banner's slightly drooping head suddenly fell, and then he opened his eyes in confusion, with an apologetic expression on his face.
"Sorry... I'm so unprofessional." He sat up straight, "Mr. Clown, clown? I mean, I'm listening."
He pulled the chair forward slightly. After the little accident just now, he suspected that the clown might pull out a buzzer from somewhere to attack him.
But it's also possible he hasn't had enough time here.
Dozed off while listening to the patient's narrative—Banner took a deep, morose breath.
"Uh, in fact, I have to admit that I am not an expert in this field." He began to lie like Zhang Dianyu, "But Mr. Warden hopes that I can help... um, the prisoners who are suffering from mental problems in the prison .”
He paused, looked at the clown's face looking at the ceiling, and thought for a moment, could this be considered troubled
The clown turned his head and looked at Banner in an almost strange posture.
Banner rubbed his face awkwardly. His stubble hadn't been shaved for a long time, and his hair was messy. He was suddenly brought in by the guards and forced to work as a psychiatrist. He also felt that he might look very embarrassed.
He's just a prisoner, that's all.
"Oh?" The Joker suddenly raised his voice, "Why do you think that a Hulk who is plagued by anger can save a madman?"
The clown's disappearing smile gradually reappeared, with a hint of mystery: "Dr. Banner, think about it, if the warden wants to cure mentally ill criminals—no offense, but you are not an expert."
Banner acknowledged this.
"Rather than maybe what he's hoping for is the actual release of the lunatics in prison—"
Banner seemed lost in thought.
The clown's voice was low and smooth: "...what do you say, doctor?"
After a while, Banner cleared his throat: "As the acting psychiatrist in the prison, I think I can prove for the warden that he started the project to treat mentally ill criminals entirely for the welfare of prisoners. Mental patients have The right to be properly treated and become a normal person — after they have served their sentences, of course."
Although Banner himself didn't quite believe this passage, he still extracted and integrated a declaration from the corners of the medical files in a short time to express his position.
He even got a glimpse of the Joker's sentence—clearly, even if he became normal, he probably wouldn't have a chance of getting out.
The clown seemed confused, he tilted his head and looked at Banner for a while.
Banner thought for a while, and spoke first: "Is there any problem? You can tell me."
"I want to hear from you—doctor, the worst day you ever experienced, do you remember it?" The clown licked his lips excitedly, looking over like a child who wants to hear a story.
Banner froze.
We all know the Hulk is a monster.
The worst day was the beam of gamma particles, an accident, the day he changed from a respected researcher to a monster who was hunted down by the military endlessly.
"I don't..." He subconsciously refused.
"Tell me, doctor." The bound clown turned his head and said to him, "I am willing to listen."
Banner was silent for a moment, then sighed slightly.
"No need."
The clown pursed his mouth, looking unhappy.
Banner didn't notice, his eyes pierced the air, and he didn't know where he was looking.
"Have you ever wondered where that green monster came from?"
The words floating from the wall made Banner frowned unobtrusively.
"He comes from anger, your own anger, anger at that day." The Joker suddenly laughed out loud, his voice seemed to go through the walls, "everyone has a bad enough day and everyone turns nuts—the Hulk is You," he laughed breathlessly, "Doctor, it's funny that you want to kick yourself out of your body."
Banner was silent.
"See, we've got something in common."
Like the lure of a devil, the low voice echoed in the small cell.
Banner didn't say no.
He was wondering if the warden, as the clown said, wanted to unleash the malicious side of human beings—then the prisoners had really had more than one bad day.
But this is a little different from what the clown said.
The warden's behavior always seemed to him to be a bit erratic, but the "bad day" that the Joker said was a crushing blow to the belief that it didn't seem the same.
The prisoners are constantly suffering mental torment - but their desire to survive seems to be stronger.
"So doctor, tell me—how have you been coping with the trouble it's been causing you lately?" the Joker asked softly.
Banner rubbed the space between his brows, and replied truthfully, "The most recent... is Pilates."