[Comprehensive British and American] Chaoying Pet Shop

The clock in the old house is ticking.

The yuppie gentleman in a well-fitting suit was leaning on the carved window sill, smoking a cigar lightly.

In front of him is a laptop on a desk.

The screen played his first encounter with the Gotham Knights.

The man has very light blue eyes.

Seen in the light, it's like a mirror without emotion.

It is neither cold nor gentle, but calmly and faithfully reflects the most real emotions.

His posture is elegant and gentle. If you only meet him once, everyone will think that he is a handsome, elegant, and polite nobleman.

No one would have thought that just a few days ago, he almost brutally murdered a family of three who should have been harmonious, and buried the famous Gotham Knight along with it.

Surveillance footage is short.

It was recorded from the second the Dark Knight broke through the window.

The dark knight in the picture sneaks into the mansion like a swimming shadow.

Then he stopped silently in the living room with the TV on.

At this second, he knew that he had stepped into a trap.

The black-and-white film "Zorro" from many years ago is playing on the TV-the movie I went to the Royal Opera House with my parents on the night of Batman's nightmare.

The living room was dimly lit.

At first glance, Batman thought there was a huge oil painting hanging on the opposite wall.

Then he saw it.

The hot blood instantly cooled down.

A man, a woman, and a child were nailed to the wall directly opposite the living room.

All three had bullet holes in their heads.

But if you look closely, the bullet holes were carved out with the tip of a knife.

Obviously to better recreate the night in Crime Alley.

Blood spread from the wall to the dark knight's feet, dripping gorgeous dark red patterns on the carpet.

The woman was obviously meticulously groomed, with a string of pearls around her neck.

One of her hands was nailed to the boy's head, and at the twitching fingertips was tied a delicate calendula dripping with thick blood.

Under the calendula, the pale boy folded his hands and tied them, as if he was praying devoutly;

The not-so-fresh blood fell drop by drop on the top of his head, flowed over his cheeks, and flowed over his trembling lips.

—The baptism of Jesus.

Batman understood.

This is a medical certificate given to him by Hannibal, a verdict that even looks like a compliment, a hole card tentatively thrown at him.

—Three people were killed that night, but one was reborn.

—The Dark Knight was baptized in his own blood.

This "oil painting" made of flesh and blood was only displayed for a few seconds.

A steel wire that was barely visible to the naked eye cut into the throat of the unconscious little boy!

The next part is the moment that surprised Doctor Baltimore a little.

The Gotham Knight touched his empty belt with one hand, and threw out the Batarang without hesitation with the other.

The bat dart cut the steel wire accurately and nailed it to the side of the little boy's throat.

Then his strong and powerful thighs jumped up, almost like flying over a wall, and climbed over one side of the wall.After rescuing the Graham family, he wrapped them tightly with a cloak, smashed the French windows of the living room, rolled out, followed the blast airflow, and fell into the Batmobile, which was prepared earlier and was comparable to an armored vehicle.

He never triggered the bombs and kerosene under the carpet, otherwise the Gotham Knights would not be as simple as only injuring half:

The clown's special gift package under the rug can flatten him, the Graham family, and a radius of ten miles.

In this confrontation, it seemed that Hannibal had won a complete victory.

But he still rubbed the cigar in his hand, while watching the surveillance screen, he praised softly:

"Tough guy."

The clown sitting on the couch:

"Really? I love him so much."

It took only three seconds from showing the "oil painting" to cutting the throat with steel wire.

Under the almost impossible circumstances, the Dark Knight made the most rational judgment under tremendous mental pressure.

He almost escapes without Hannibal killing him, or Hannibal killing the emblematic Grahams right in front of his eyes.

Hannibal smiled. "That's the difference between us, I suppose. I have a lot of respect for the Silent Guardians, but I'm not interested in that kind of goal."

The clown suddenly became frustrated: "A—why not, doctor? You've also said before that you're not interested in patients like me—regional discrimination? Targeting Gotham people?"

Hannibal: "Because you are also madmen. A madman is like an empty cup, and you can see the bottom of the cup at a glance. I prefer to taste the part contained in the cup-the complex and soft part."

Clown: "Hee hee. Did he taste your lamb too, Doctor?"

After the clown finished speaking, he squatted on the sofa and laughed.

Communicating with someone like the Joker requires getting used to his jumpy thinking and illogical questions and answers—sometimes he does it on purpose.

Hannibal was calm.

"That's impossible," he said.

— but it is undeniable that he did touch it.

When he walked out of the living room and into the dark corridor of the secret mansion, the psychiatrist thought with some displeasure.

Like an indiscriminate thief who leaves a string of dirty footprints in his master's house, touches his finest personal belongings with black-gloved hands—

With all due respect, that is not the behavior of a polite gentleman.

The secret mansion he lives in has the same dark corridor as the mansion he temporarily lived in Gotham.

The man stopped gently in the middle of the corridor, and seemed to see the clean blue-eyed boy pushing the wheelchair towards him again.

The first time Joward met him, he pushed a wheelchair.

Gotham always seems to be associated with rain and cloudy skies.

He stood by the window on the second floor of the mansion and watched. From the rainstorm on the sidewalk, the boy was holding a white umbrella and struggling to shake the axle with one hand, coming through the rain.

Indifferent family relations.

Hannibal made a preliminary judgment on the teenager almost immediately.

The brown-haired boy came to the door of the mansion.

The doorbell was too high for him to reach.

Looking down at his clothes, which were mostly wet, he closed his eyes, put away his umbrella, and poked the doorbell with the tip of the umbrella.

The man opened the door and stood in the dark porch, with a gentle smile in his eyes, inviting him in.

The teenager parked the wheelchair on the porch mat.

His little white umbrella was dripping water. He didn't want to wet the beautiful carpet of other people's house, so he took it with his hand and let the rain flow on his pants.

The door closed quietly behind him.

Shortly after the Gotham bombing, Hannibal's consulting work exploded.

A large number of PTSD patients occupied his personal time, so he had to stop his interest in Arkham and focus on his own work instead.

Joward was no different from any other patient he saw.

His parents died in the explosion, his legs were injured, and according to his uncle in Gotham, Joward would often wake up screaming in the middle of the night, affecting his cousin's study at the same age.

Hannibal noticed that there was a thick bracer on the boy's left wrist, under which was hidden a messy bandage.

Perhaps it was a suicide that was witnessed by accident that made his uncle decide to send him here.

Joe Ward was very cooperative. After an hour of counseling, he said softly:

"Thank you, doctor. I feel better than I did before."

Hannibal: "Great result. See you next week, Joe."

Treatment for severe PTSD like Joe Ward's usually involves a long course of treatment.

But when they met for the second time, Hannibal found that the boy's condition had regressed again, and the bandage on his left wrist was replaced with a new one.

Hannibal: "Would you like to talk to me about your uncle and the environment you live in now?"

Joe Ward: "Everything is fine."

He went to get the glass of water on the table.

Through the transparent glass, Hannibal saw several Band-Aids on the palm of his right hand, which was swollen like a steamed bun.

He remembered that Joe Ward had always come across the long sidewalk alone in his wheelchair.

After each treatment, he was not in a hurry to go home, and wandered the streets in a wheelchair.

Hannibal: "The last patient gave me a pair of gloves, but they were a small size. I think you'll fit just right."

He handed Joeward a pair of old thick gloves of his own.

Joe Ward looked at him, and there was a moment of sadness in his blue eyes, but he concealed it.

Joward: "Thank you, Doctor."

He put it on with great care.

Every time he came for treatment, he wore these old gloves that were a bit worn out.

The treatment lasted more than a month and was discontinued without warning.

According to Joe Ward's uncle, they thought he was cured.

As Joe Ward's attending doctor, Hannibal knew that his condition was far from being "cured".

But this situation, he has seen too much.

He is a well-known psychiatrist, and the consulting fee is not a small amount.

Especially in middle-class families like Joe Ward, there are many patients who suddenly stop treatment halfway or change psychologists.

So far, he didn't care.

Then, another day of rainstorm in Gotham.

Hannibal finished his consulting work for the day and sipped a glass of red wine on the window sill on the second floor.

He saw the boy wearing his old gloves and holding a small white umbrella, struggling to shake his wheelchair across the sidewalk.

The man opened the door and stood on the porch to greet him, smiling.

But Joe Ward didn't seem to plan to come to consult.

He seemed a little panicked, and said in a low voice:

"I just went for a walk..."

Hannibal glanced at his left wrist, where the bandage had thickened again.

Hannibal: "It's not my working hours either. So, can I invite you in for a cup of tea?"

So Joe Ward pushed the wheelchair in again.

He still stopped the wheelchair on the mat at the door, and caught the water dripping from the little white umbrella with his hands, dripping all over his pants.

His good upbringing and etiquette are the main reasons why Hannibal invited him in for this cup of tea;

But when he saw the boy carefully take off the old gloves and fold them on his knees, he suddenly had a new idea.

This is a child who was almost abandoned by society.

Lost parents, far away from home, disabled legs, and serious mental illness, and trapped in a strange Gotham, and a family of indifferent relatives.

——Even if he disappears one day, it probably won't cause any waves.

Hannibal: "Tell me about your sleep status, Joe."

Joward: "...I'm not here for a consultation, doctor, I don't have money..."

Hannibal: "It's okay."

The treatment time is very long, a full three hours.

Hannibal asked him to have dinner at home, but Joe Ward refused, and went home in a wheelchair with a small white umbrella.

Hannibal watched the boy's back from the second floor.

In the rain, a dog was tied to a telephone pole outside the hotel by a careless owner. Joe Ward looked at it, bent down, put a small white umbrella on its wet head, and shook the wheelchair away.

Every weekend in the future, Hannibal will treat Joe Ward for free.

From Monday to Friday, the teenager would also come over and not speak much, quietly helping him with information registration and making phone appointments, as if he suddenly had a little assistant.

Hannibal's inspection work in Gotham came to an end, and he began to pack his things and prepare to return to Baltimore.

He didn't avoid Joward, so he froze when Joward rolled his wheelchair and saw packed things all over the house.

The boy didn't froze for long.

He just sat quietly in the wheelchair for a while, and then started to help the therapist pack his things.

Hannibal suggested: "There is still some time left, I can treat you again."

Joward: "No, doctor. No."

He said goodbye to Hannibal politely, and rolled out in his wheelchair.

Hannibal put down the things in his hands, put on his coat and hat, and followed him slowly at a distance.

Joward wandered aimlessly by himself, as if he didn't know where he was going.

At last he entered a church.

In the church, a choir is singing, and some white doves are sitting on the stained glass.

Joe Ward sat on the edge of the last row of seats and listened, tears came down.

He wept silently, as if misery had taken his voice too.

Hannibal leaned against the church wall, waited a moment, then stepped forward.

He patted the boy on the shoulder.

Joward: "Uh, doctor... aren't you, packing your things? Why are you here..."

When Hannibal opened his mouth to answer, the choir had just finished its last ethereal chorus.

The white doves on the stained glass took off, fluttering high in the sky with their white wings.

The Madonna in the murals has lowered eyebrows and eyes, full of tenderness towards everything in the world.

Hannibal: "I'll take you away."

It was Joe Ward's first day following the demon, and everything was as good as a black humor.