Rebuilding Base is Under Construction

Banner slowly opened the file of the criminal mental patient in his hand.

The front page of the document is the prisoner's number, printed 402001 in bold, the same as on the prison uniform. There is only one nickname "clown" in the name, and the age is unknown.

But the criminal record behind it was a dozen pages long.

Banner: "..."

He seemed to understand why the warden didn't want the normal psychiatrist to line up with the clown-the doctor who died in his hand could be full of street hearses, not to mention Harry Quinn Such a precedent.

But ... he certainly wouldn't.

Banner was silent for a while, and at this time he couldn't understand what the warden meant-anyway, just watching the clown don't let him be troubled, don't think about treatment.

To be honest, the clown is well-known and can be regarded as a household mental illness. Few people in the world believe that he will be cured.

Banner was certainly not overwhelmed.

Then he ... chat with the clown?

Banner: "..."

The clown's treatment in prison was obviously not very good. The dark green hair had not been washed for a long time, and it was placed softly on his forehead, but intermittent humming came from deep in his throat.

Banner decided to start: "Well, do you think ... a bit happy now?"

"Well, little green man." The clown's humming was interrupted and he smiled, "I know you."

Banner was a bit uncomfortable with the title.

"Then ... I don't think I'll call it 'little'."

"Yes, I'm very happy." The clown suddenly answered solemnly, and suddenly came back to the previous topic.

Banner searched for the knowledge that hadn't gotten through in his extraordinary memory, and thought about how to answer here.

"Mr. Warden guarded me so much, of course I am happy," said the clown with a smile.

Banner took a deep breath, and he shouldn't have to answer.

"You're happy too?" The clown's low voice seemed to murmur, "Yes, of course you are happy. He didn't treat you as a monster, he regarded you as a tool."

Banner: "..."

"The idiot is big and green, and is regarded as a crisis by the whole world." The clown seemed to be talking to himself. "But the warden is different. He understands who you are, he gave you a job, he helps you Suppressing myself-alas, suppressing that little guy. "

Banner: "..."

The clown looked at him with a smile: "What do you say, doctor?"

Banner's drooping head fell suddenly, then opened his eyes in confusion, apologizing on his face.

"Sorry ... I'm too unprofessional." He sat up straight. "Mr. Joker, Joker? I mean, I'm listening."

He pulled the chair slightly forward. After a little accident just now, he wondered where the clown might pull out a buzzer to attack him.

But it is also possible that he has not played enough here.

Snoring while listening to the patient's readme—Banner took a deep, frowning breath.

"Uh, I actually have to admit, I'm not an expert in this area." He began to lie like Zhang Dianyu, "but Mr. Dian hopes that I can help ... uh, prisoners suffering from mental problems in prison Them. "

He paused, looked at the face of the clown looking at the ceiling, and wondered if this was troubled?

The clown turned his head and looked at Banner in an almost bizarre posture.

Banner embarrassedly touched his face. His stubble has not been shaved for a long time, and his hair is messy. Suddenly he was led by a security guard and forced to work as a psychiatrist. He also felt that he might be very embarrassed.

He is just a prisoner.

"Oh?" The clown suddenly raised his tone. "Why do you think that a Hulk who is troubled by anger can make 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 intention to offend, but you are not an expert."

Banner admits it.

"It might as well say that what he hopes is to really release the lunatic in the prison—"

Banner seemed to be lost in thought.

The clown's voice was low and smooth: "... what do you say, doctor?"

After a while, Banner cleared his throat: "As an acting psychiatrist in prison, I think I can prove for the governor that he has launched a project to treat mentally ill offenders solely for the well-being of prisoners. Mental patients have The right is properly treated and becomes a normal person-of course, after they have served their sentence. "

Although Banner himself did not quite believe this statement, he extracted and integrated a statement from the sides of the medical file for a short time to show his position.

He even glimpsed the term of the clown—obviously, even if he becomes a normal person, I am afraid there will be no chance of leaving prison.

The clown seemed a little confused, and he tilted his head to look at Banner for a moment.

Banner thought for a moment, and spoke first: "Is there a problem? You can tell me."

"I want to hear from you--Doctor, do you remember the worst day you've ever experienced?" The clown licked his lips excitedly, looking at the eyes like a child who wanted to hear a story.

Banner stunned.

As everyone knows, Hulk is a monster.

The worst day was the beam of gamma particles. An accident was the day he changed from a respected researcher to a monster that was hunted and killed by the military.

"I don't ..." He refused subconsciously.

"Let's talk, doctor." The restrained clown turned his head and said to him, "I'd like to listen."

Banner was silent for a moment and sighed slightly.

"No need."

The clown pursed his lips and looked unhappy.

Banner didn't notice, his gaze penetrated the air, not knowing where to look.

"Have you ever thought of where that green monster came from?"

The sentence that floated from the wall made Benner frowned slightly.

"He comes from anger, your own anger, the anger on that day." The clown burst out laughing, his voice seemed to penetrate the wall. "As long as a bad day, everyone will become a lunatic-Hulk It's you, "he gasped," Doctor, you want to drive yourself out of your body, it's really fun. "

Banner was silent.

"Look, we always have something similar."

Like a seductive demon, a low voice echoed in the small cell.

Banner didn't say anything.

He was thinking about the warden, did he really want to release the malicious side of mankind, as the clown said-the prisoners had really been through more than a bad day.

But this is a little different from what the clowns say.

The warden's behavior always seemed a little erratic to him, but the "bad day" that the clown called was a heavy blow to destroy faith, it seemed different.

The prisoners were suffering mentally all the time—but their desire to survive seemed stronger.

"So doctor, tell me-how have you dealt with the trouble it caused you recently?" The clown asked softly.

Banner frowned, and answered truthfully: "Recently ... Pilates."