Chapter 1 Chapter 1
In an abandoned amusement park, the clown found a godsend gift——
She let him do whatever he wanted, even when he brought his hideous face, which was covered in oil paint, closer to her. She had no expression on her face, and was stunned like a fool. She was not afraid of the gun pressed against her forehead. She didn't care whether it contained a bullet that would kill people or some other non-threatening "little surprise".
It's like she can't hear or see, and her head is empty, so she is a puppet turned into a human by the fairy godmother waving a magic wand?
It was a child with short black curly hair, half-open eyes, and a dying look. She was perhaps only seven or eight years old. She was curled up on a tattered curtain covered in mud in the corner. Her breathing was almost inaudible in the dim silence, and only the slight rise and fall of her chest proved that she was still alive.
"I thought you were boring, sweetheart," the clown opened his eyes wide, his expression surprised, pretending that it was really the case, but he half-knelt, wiped off the scarlet paint he had applied from the corners of his mouth to the roots of his ears, and then casually applied it on the face of the child in front of him. She couldn't open her eyes and didn't respond.
"But I know you're my gift, right? Maybe I should have one of my own—"
"My—"
His tone gradually deepened, then took on a different meaning. "God, you should know that my enemy and rival, that damn lunatic, also has his assistant. Now he and I are equal, and that's how it should be."
So he was laughing, laughing with surprise, madness, and craziness.
The terrible green hair was made even worse by the way he laughed so hard that he fell back and forth. Combined with his pale skin and scarlet paint, he was completely different from the clowns in the circus. After all, he was crazy, and crazy people were always a little different. He couldn't just be like everyone else.
But he actually bent down, which was rare, and picked up the little girl made of wood. He began to hum a tune that was often played in the circus, which was cheerful, uplifting and rhythmic. However, he suddenly raised some syllables, so the tune became strange and unpleasant.
There was a wasteland outside the amusement park. The clown walked out holding the gift he had received and picked up a top hat of the same color as his suit jacket that he had thrown away earlier on the side of the road. He lowered his head and gently and teasingly put the hat on her face as if touching a tombstone.
Oh my god, his god—
He felt an indescribable emotion, "It's like I buried you, I buried you with my own hands." There was a crazy pleasure in his eyes. Of course, he had killed many people, but a situation like this, oh, he felt like he had buried the other person, which was unprecedented. As for burying someone or some people alive, he didn't think it counted.
"From now on...good boy, you are mine."
Even if she didn't respond, the dim light shone into the slits of her eyes, everything was dry and dead, the clown's tone was full of sighs, and he would only be more satisfied with her, hugging her tightly as if to strangle her here, but she was still a piece of wood, dull and stingy and refused to give any response.
…
The Joker returned with a gift that satisfied him, but every time he came out of that damn place, Arkham, he always had some "little things" to do. Besides, what was so important in his heart that he was worth thinking about all the time?
Hiring a woman named Mary Miller to take care of her was a bit of a bother. After all, although he didn't care much about her, he didn't want to find his things turned into a smelly, rotten corpse when he saw her next time. That would be very boring, and he wouldn't make such a mistake.
Mary Miller, whose home was broken into by a vicious criminal, said that the house was hers, and when the Joker gave her the option of either dying or taking care of the little thing, she chose the latter, so now she is her responsibility.
After the clown left, the originally frightened fat woman straightened up, picked up the several banknotes thrown on the ground by the clown, and then looked the child up and down with an uncomfortable look in her eyes. She sneered, and then took her to the living room without saying a word. She didn't let her sit down, and when she came out of the kitchen and found that the child was missing, she was not panicked.
There was no sound of the door opening or closing, and the child looked obviously defective, so she did not run out in a panic to look for him.
Mary glanced around the living room. She was fat, which meant her footsteps were heavy, and the heavy footsteps stopped at the side of the sofa. From this angle, she could already see that she was huddled in the small space behind the sofa, close to the wall, as if trying to hide herself.
Mary roughly pulled her out and brought her to the table. She heated up the milk and prepared a serving of potato pancakes, but the confused child in front of her just stood there blankly, as if unable to move on her own. Mary didn't care whether she ate or not and gave her two hours.
Maybe she went out to play cards. When she came back, she smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, and her expression was very bad. She was indifferent to the untouched food on the table.
Mary pulled the child out from behind the sofa again, took her to the bathroom, and without letting her take off her dirty clothes, she turned on the shower and rinsed her from head to toe. At first, she just shuddered when the cold water poured on her body. Halfway through the shower, Mary took disgust and took off her clothes and washed her hair.
There was nothing to wash, just her clothes were dirty and her hair was a little muddy, but her skin was very white and she was a little too thin. Maybe those people like to keep such little pets that have no power to resist?
After Mary finished washing her, she took her to the bedroom in a casual manner. She didn't even bother to blow-dry her hair. She just turned around and left. She cleaned up the kitchen and bathroom and went out without resting here.
So two and a half days passed like this. When the clown came to look for his new toy late at night, he was disappointed to find that there was no one in the house.
Mary Miller was not there, and he had gone through every room without seeing the child, but he did not think she was not there.
He held a blood-stained crowbar in his hand, hitting it repeatedly as he casually patrolled the rooms, the hideous smile on his face growing wider and wider. "My sweetheart, oh no, you disobedient bad boy, where are you hiding?"
"Let me guess where I'll find you?"
So could someone be hiding behind the door? He'd seen it before, hadn't he? There was no way someone could be hiding behind the door, but he swung the crowbar and banged it hard against the bathroom door, causing a loud bang. Not only did the door frame twist, but the frosted glass shattered all over the floor, and his leather shoes creaked as he stepped on it.
Just like a classic but old-fashioned thriller, he is not a murderer but may be more terrifying than him. Someone outside the house is dissatisfied with his actions, and the Joker responds by pulling out a gun and shooting a bullet into the door and the window, and the noisy protests stop abruptly.
Inside the house, he slowly hummed a strange tune, with the curved tip of the crowbar hanging down, gently tapping the wall or some object. He was not in a hurry and had enough time to play this little game.
"Where are you? Where are you..." He dragged the crowbar back and forth, and then suddenly jumped up and smashed the desktop TV in the living room, using force to knock off the shell of the rigid big guy, leaving it rotten into debris on the ground.
The appliance broke down, making a hissing sound, and he finally stopped at the bedroom door.
"I guess you'll be here, you'll only be here." He laughed intermittently, and the genuine joy was simply uncontrollable, and he didn't want to restrain it.
She was curled up in the innermost part under the bed in the bedroom, half unconscious. She regained a little consciousness because of the loud noise outside that woke her up. At this moment, her hazy vision saw a pair of leather shoes with white shoe covers parked by the bed, blocking the little light that could be reflected in.
The vision darkened, and the owner of the leather shoes seemed to tiptoe, and soon a pointed jaw dropped, followed by scarlet lips and an extremely pale face. His eyeballs moved strangely and fell on her.
The clown said, "I found you!"
He hooked the crowbar on her clothes and pulled her out. As they got closer, the strong smell of blood and other messy smells entered her senses, but she did not react.
The child, still curled up on the ground, looked even weaker than before. She saw the dangerous and terrifying man in front of her, the blood-stained crowbar in his hand, and the dark blood splatter on his clothes. She felt tired even though she kept her eyes open, and fell asleep again.
His leather-gloved hand fell to her jaw, turning it over and over, but she didn't wake up even when he tried harder.
His audience, his companions, lost consciousness, and the clown curled his lips in disappointment, but it was obvious that he was not yet tired of this very different child, and she had not yet satisfied his interest and fun.
He grabbed her hair and tried to drag her away, but young children's hair was not that long, so his hand slipped and he looked at her carefully before he clapped his hands in sudden realization: "Oh, I forgot, little mouse, you might die... You are so useless." He said with dissatisfaction and disgust.
As a highly experienced criminal who is well-versed in human physiology and psychology, it is not difficult for him to see that this child is not only weak but also has some 'minor problems'. As for his current coma?
Oh, it's not a big deal. She's just hungry. Look at her skinny appearance, her belly is completely sunken. She looks like a little mouse on the roadside, skinny and afraid of people. She has no ability and can only starve to death in the sewer.
How pitiful.
The Joker raised the corners of his mouth again, leaned over and picked her up from the ground, not caring that his suit was covered in dust. As for the crowbar, he threw it down casually. When he went out, he saw a plastic bag on the side of the road that had contained food but had been robbed long ago. Then they went to the black clinic.
The disobedient black doctor was shot in the left arm. He gave the child brought by the clown an IV drip without any treatment while the child was still bleeding. Of course, she fainted from hunger, so she had to be given some glucose first, and then slowly resume her diet after she woke up.
The clown looked at the child lying on the hospital bed, stroking his jaw as if thinking about something. After listening to the black doctor's stumbling instructions, he turned around and walked out without paying much attention. But before leaving the underground clinic, he smiled and said, "Maybe I should kill you first? But you will be a good doctor with professional ethics, right?"
He put his finger in front of his lips, and his meaning was obvious.
The author has something to say:
Passionate opening, April Fools' Day, Ugly Master makes his grand appearance——
Actually, I wrote an outline of over 60,000 words, but I feel like I can’t continue (thinking). This article starts with Megan when she was 8 years old, and the detailed outline has been carried out until she was 14 years old. The child has grown up, so I am a little out of the outline (×)
Don’t think that the Joker is crazy now. Even if Megan did the things described in the copy later, the Joker didn’t hit her.
What is this? This is the new definition of "Father" in the new era, right?
After thinking about it, I still have to say that this article is a bit similar to Sakurako. Both are young cubs with some minor furry problems, and there are a lot of daily routines and a slow pace. If you want to see the copywriting scenes, you will only see them in the later stages.
Welcome everyone to jump in, but before becoming a v-lister and making the list, updates are more casual, and I take breaks on holidays (? You). After all, I only write when I'm at work. Once I'm on vacation, such as Sundays or statutory holidays, I won't have the motivation to slack off and won't write.
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