Chapter 184 Daily Life in Arkham (Part 2)

When Jack lay on the bed of Arkham Psychiatric Hospital again, Schiller said gloatingly: "Now you know where your permanent home is? Since you paid a lot of money, I can give you more painkillers."

"Do you think I'm an addict?" Jack shouted angrily: "Don't compare me with those people who have damaged their brains by taking drugs!"

"Look at it, at least you have a permanent bed here. You should have seen how much those gangsters who can't get in from outside want such a bed."

When the word "gangster" was mentioned, Jack showed a disgusting expression. He muttered in a low voice: "You are like that bat. He doesn't want to laugh, you don't want to be crazy, you are all deceiving yourself..."

He stared at the ceiling and kept muttering: "Why are you so serious? Why don't you admit it? Why don't you be proud of your chaos and disorder?"

Suddenly, he calmed down again, and even said philosophically: "In such a mediocre world, it should be a matter of pride to have a unique crazy soul."

"But you always trap such a wonderful soul in a mediocre and disgusting body."

"Living seriously and seriously every day, pretending to be no different from those zombies, this really makes me sick..."

"Madness is not the only way to understand this world." Schiller also sat down, his tone was very calm, he said: "I always believe this."

"If you can't become a sharp knife and use madness to pierce the disguise of the world, then you will be tamed by those hypocritical orders."

Jack said some difficult words like a dream, and each word would pause in his mouth, as if he didn't know them, but each sentence was so complete and fluent.

"There is disorder only when there is order. If there is no order, chaos will no longer be chaos. Chaos will become order. When you destroy order, you are actually establishing another order."

"Many people think that the ultimate answer to this world is chaos, but when they have this idea, it means that they have been domesticated by order. There is no ultimate answer in this world."

"Is this the reason why you and the bat would rather do nothing?" Jack looked at Schiller.

"He and I are still a little different." Schiller poured himself a glass of water and said, "Batman is a warrior who maintains order in chaos, but I am not. I am just an ordinary person."

"Ordinary people..." Jack sneered at his remarks.

"And you, who think of yourself as the savior, want to tell everyone that only madness can know all the truth, especially want to tell Batman that the answers he wants are close at hand, so simple that he only needs to smile."

"But he doesn't understand this, he just doesn't want to do it."

"That's why I think he is a psychopath." Jack's tone suddenly revealed a hint of jealousy, "He has what I don't have, the most fundamental darkness and madness that I dream of, but he just doesn't want to do it. He can obviously become a great god who tears up this mediocre lie, but he just doesn't want to smile."

"This question echoes in my mind every day, making me feel puzzled and crazy."

"Why are they so serious?"

Schiller shrugged and said, "Everyone is deceiving themselves, only you are telling the truth Everyone is pretending to be serious, only you laugh out loud, so you become the only clown. "

Jack stared at the ceiling and said, "When the laughter is about to overflow from their mouths, their first reaction is fear, resistance, and reflection. This is crazy."

"It must be very happy to be a clown, because there is nothing in this world that you can't laugh at. You want them to know how happy you are, but unfortunately no one always appreciates your kindness."

"I always think that people dressed as bats are mentally ill." Jack looked at Schiller and said, "...People dressed as ordinary people are also."

Outside the window, the night of Gotham slowly fell, and the lights of the city jumped. After the weather warmed up, the whole city began to glow with new vitality, still a little crazy and evil, still chaotic, and still prosperous and bustling.

In the morning, Schiller was in his office, holding a paintbrush. Brand beside him took off his paint-stained gloves with some disgust. Schiller said to him: "I am sure that this broken hospital needs a thorough renovation."

He pointed to the corner and said: "If it weren't for that madman's graffiti that damaged my wall, I wouldn't have noticed that the brick joints there are cracked, and it might collapse one day."

Brand sighed and said: "What you said makes sense, but this requires a long-term plan. We can't tell those patients that we will start renovating the hospital tomorrow and ask them to get out?"

He looked up at the corner of the roof and said: "In short, until now, we can only do it ourselves."

"You just can't bear to give up the revenue these days." Schiller smiled and said: "If the decoration takes two months, and there is no commission during this period, it will be a big loss, right?"

Brand touched his nose, cursed secretly and said, "It's all your fault that the damn gangster industry chain started. I never knew that money was so easy to make in my life. If the work is stopped for two months, how much money will I lose?"

"Okay, then we will do it ourselves, but cracks in the corners are minor problems. The biggest problem is that there are not enough wards."

Brand also sighed. He obviously knew this. Gu 脮

Arkham Psychiatric Hospital has a long history. When this building was built, Gotham did not have so many people. The carrying capacity of this hospital is limited. Even if Schiller has a big cycle of medical parole and prison parole, the wards are still tight.

The main contradiction of Arkham Psychiatric Hospital now is the contradiction between backward facilities and the growing money-making needs of gangsters.

After the disaster in Gotham, this contradiction has become more prominent. The logistics facilities are being rebuilt, and most of the gangsters are idle. What better place is there than the Arkham Club?

Here they reorganized the industry, exchanged resources, formed circles, expanded their network, and prepared for the next step of development.

Everyone shared what they had and exchanged information, and progressed step by step according to the different levels of the circle. If you don't join in now, you won't even be able to drink soup when the work really starts.

Especially after Jack returned to the mental hospital, he was really a very troublesome guy. Cobblepot, Evans and Jack were incompatible.

Cobblepot and Evans could barely stay in the same room, but if Alberto came out, it would be impossible. When the future Penguin Cobblepot and the Joker stayed in the same room, they often fought because of their different views.

Cobblepot belongs to the lawful evil faction in Gotham. In short, he is not crazy enough. In fact, the Penguin in the original book is similar. He runs a big restaurant, chats and laughs with gang bosses, and even becomes the mayor. This is a normal to abnormal promotion route in Gotham, which is completely different from the chaotic evil of the Joker.

So Cobblepot thinks the Joker is a complete madman and cannot communicate, while the Joker thinks Cobblepot is a fool who is no different from those gang bosses. Staying with him for one more second is an insult to him.

Cobblepot disdains to reason with a madman, and the Joker is too lazy to talk to a fool, so the way they resolve disputes is to fight.

Neither of them is strong enough, not to mention Cobblepot, who is thin and weak, and the Joker is a little crazy, so he fights without any rules. The two can fight evenly every time, and finally they are tied to the hospital bed with blood and blood, staring at each other.

The Joker and Evans have huge differences in their understanding of art. They mainly quarrel, mainly because Evans doesn't like to hit people, and Jack can't beat Evans at all. The way they quarrel has become a show of opera excerpts.

If Evans's singing can be considered beautiful, then Jack's singing level will be shocked even if Batman himself comes.

As long as the two of them live in the same ward, letters complaining about noise and nuisance will be sent to Schiller's office like snowflakes.

So these three people can only have one ward each.

There are not many wards to begin with, and these three patients who have no profit output have to occupy one ward each. Schiller has been displeased with them for a long time, but these three people have legitimate reasons.

Cobblepot was stabbed several times by Evans before, and he was really seriously injured. It is somewhat inhumane to let him leave the hospital now.

The conflict between Evans and his father has not been completely resolved. Alberto is determined not to return to the Falcone Manor, and the Godfather has no intention of coming to pick up his son, so he can only drag it on.

Jack has nothing to do because Batman is busy with classes, and he has to consider Gordon's mental health and work pressure, so he can only stay here.

It was another afternoon when Schiller had just finished lunch. Jack stood on the balcony on the 7th floor of Arkham Psychiatric Hospital, with one foot outside the balcony railing.

Bruce, Evans and Cobblepot were standing in the room. Evans said to Jack, "Let's talk it over. Can you come back from there first? If you fall, the professor will be very angry."

Bruce only came to Evans to hand over the work of the society. He didn't know about the thrilling things that happened in Arkham Mental Hospital during this period, so he turned to Evans and asked, "What's going on? Why did he jump off the building?"

"Can't you see it?" Cobblepot sat on the bed next to him and said to Bruce, "He is a lunatic and is having an attack."

Evans was still persuading Jack earnestly, "This is the 7th floor. If you fall down like this, you will definitely hit the ground head first. The brain and blood will stain a large area of ​​the ground. The professor will have to pay a large amount of cleaning fees, and he will definitely be very angry."

Cobblepot also said, "The ground floor is all brick roads. It is difficult to clean up the blood splashed in. All bricks must be lifted up. If you really dare to do this, I have no doubt that he will give you a funeral full of the smell of money."

Jack's face showed a trace of embarrassment. He said, "Will he carry my coffin to a group of gangsters and let them read eulogies to me? Let you, a fool, give me flowers, and let that person with no taste in music sing poems for me? Oh my God! He is a devil!"

"But do you think I'm afraid?!" Jack patted the guardrail hard and said like a chant: "Brave Jack will not be afraid of the devil. I will prove to you now that I am the Arkham Knight!"

As he said that, he leaned to the left and fell straight down. Bruce rushed to the balcony in two steps, and then saw Jack floating in the air. Schiller, who was downstairs, stretched out a hand and threw him aside with an irritated look on his face.

Jack rolled over with laughter on the ground. He said, "Hahahaha! Ordinary people, you said you are an ordinary person! Hahahaha, this joke is so funny. I must listen to it again tomorrow, hahahaha!"

Evans looked back at the calendar, then looked at Copperbot and said, "Let's make a bet. Will there be a 15th time this week?"

Copperbot stood up and walked out of the room, intending to return to his ward. He said, "I bet it will definitely be more than 20 times."

Only Bruce stood on the balcony. He looked back at Evans and Copperbot, then looked down at Schiller and Jack. The wind on the balcony made his hair messy. He murmured to himself in a low voice:

"... Am I crazy?"