Laughing American comics, I am becoming more and more like a clown

"How did you get out?"

How the clown walked from the dream into reality.

"What's so special about that sea?"

The Joker was submerged from head to toe in the sea before appearing in reality, and Lucien never dreamed of that special scene again, which occupied most of his dreams in this world.

This time the clown didn't hide anything. He said leisurely, "Aren't you curious about whether your future is me or my future?"

"I thought clowns were a constant."

"It depends on the editors—what they like about clowns. Clowns are a very broad concept. Even if you become a clown, and become that special clown—in other words, the clown of the main world—even he can still be squashed and rounded into different shapes according to the plot."

The clown tapped the ash from his cigarette. "The clown is not a fixed thing, nor can it be a fixed thing. How can you expect a fixed, unchanging thing to attract people's attention?"

Lucian looked at him, puzzled. "So my future is fixed, but my future's future isn't?" He frowned. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

"Be more civilized." The clown reminded, but it was just a reminder: "This is not something you stipulated. It's your problem that you have no freedom and no future... You were deceived by me, and I was not deceived by anyone else."

He felt no guilt at all for framing Lucian, and was even somewhat smug when facing the victim's parents as some murderers who could not be convicted.

"I need to remind you of something," Lucian said. "You now have a physical form. I can touch you, which means... I can hit you."

The Joker is unthreatening: "You've already hit me, in a dream, but not in person, have you?"

"I don't think I can beat him now."

"You can try."

Lucian didn't take action, but changed the subject: "I'm a little curious about your origin story now."

"You want to hear this? Okay, which version? The one where a normal person turns evil? The one with a genetic disease? The one where Red Hood falls into a chemical tank?"

"I know all this, so I want to know your origin story." Lucian also lit a cigarette for himself, with gray smoke rising from both sides. The spicy taste was inhaled from the mouth, stayed in the lungs, and finally exhaled from the nose.

"Although I said I would tell you this, that was me then, and now, you will only get lies."

Perhaps the Joker is the first person who can tell a lie so sincerely.

Lucian didn't know what to say for a moment: "So, do you have anything to say to me?"

"Fight? That's all I want to tell you. Fight your fate of becoming a clown."

"Hypocrisy." Lucian sneered.

"Who said it wasn't?" The clown didn't refute.

The two fell silent, but the atmosphere was not stiff, but rather flowing harmoniously.

It is now around four or five in the afternoon, and dusk is approaching. Light begins to tentatively peek out from the clouds, covering the area with a layer of glittering golden red.

"Make me a story," Lucian compromised. "Something unique, an origin story I haven't heard before."

"What if my origin story is one of the three I just mentioned?"

"It doesn't matter. Now I need a storyteller to tell me something to amuse me."

Although the Joker tricked him, Lucien could still get along with him harmoniously and peacefully. He couldn't explain why. After thinking about it, he finally felt that it was actually a habit.

After all, ever since he could remember, the Joker had been hanging around in his mind, and his presence was so strong that it seemed like he had a split personality.

They didn't talk about "a bad day" anymore, nor did they discuss Batman, nor did they philosophize, but the Joker did talk, and he did so in a very eloquent way.

Lucien thought that perhaps in the Middle Ages, minstreldom was a lucrative profession for clowns.

"I'm an ordinary person. I lived the first half of my life according to plan, with my family, school, and career. I should be considered lucky in my ordinary life. I have never experienced violence, sexual assault, extortion, or oppression."

"Of course, I'm not particularly wealthy, intelligent, quick-witted, or knowledgeable."

"As time went by, I became a white-collar worker, spending every day with documents, schedules, PPTs, and the like. It wasn't fun, and it had no value, but I didn't need it. This was a job that could cover my daily expenses."

Chapter 158 Story

"I later got married, had children, and lived a normal life. But I discovered my wife was cheating on me, so I practiced my marksmanship diligently. After taking revenge, my heart became twisted and I became a pervert."

Lucian waited for a while, but there was no follow-up, so he briefly commented: "A perverted account of a late-night murder targeting women."

That is indeed very similar.

The sunlight shines into the clown's eyes, gilding the green, but he is not angry: "Don't deify the 'worst day'. You should understand that everyone's threshold for pain and sadness is different."

"I respect that." Lucien looked at him... now even the look in his eyes had changed. The Joker looked less and less like the person he remembered. "But that doesn't mean I'm willing to shed hypocritical tears over a shoddy story."

The clown pressed the cigarette butt against a nearby green plant, leaving an ugly round scar on the cactus, and then lit another one:

"I've lived in a social experiment since I was a child." He said with a melancholic tone: "They want to see how someone who grew up with a normal life in the general sense can become a lunatic."

"They gave me parents, and took them away; they gave me a wife, and killed her; they gave me children, and took them away. They brought me misfortune after misfortune had struck me when I was happiest."

"They took away my job, my family, my friendships, my money, and left me homeless and sick. They wanted to destroy me, to see me collapse, become decadent, and angry, and then stage a redemption drama to bring me back to the right path... But they didn't expect it."

The Joker scoffed, "But they didn't expect me to be tough inside."

The sun set further and further west, struggling out from the clouds and turning a bright red.

"Man-made misfortune cannot defeat me - life will find its own way to survive. Such malice makes me see their existence clearly... This is a Truman show full of malice."

……

He must have something else to say, but the metaphor was so profound that Lucian couldn't fully understand it. He just looked at the golden eyes that were always looking into the distance, and his back slowly slumped... in a relaxed state of not pursuing anything.

If someone were to see them from a distance, without being able to see their faces clearly, based solely on their appearance, they would probably assume they were twin brothers.

If you look at it from the side, it will feel like there is a mirror placed on the side, honestly reflecting the same body shape.

"Do you think the madman knows he's mad?" the Joker asked calmly.

"Perhaps in the eyes of a madman, the world is crazy." Lucian answered calmly.

"This is my origin story - a sane person and a crazy world." The Joker looked at him, and their eyes met. It was more like a self-reflection in the mirror.

Unfortunately, the difference in appearance is so obvious that no one would come up with such a guess no matter how close they look.

"Very good," Lucien said. "I'll give you a tip for that story."

----

Originally, the Order of the Angel of Death and the rebels had a tacit understanding. They called the places where the rebels were prevalent the Purgatory Zone, and the struggle was more of a regional armed conflict.

But Batman being robbed angered the Angel of Death, and he began to spend a lot of energy suppressing the rebels, causing the rebel area to shrink and temporarily avoid the limelight.

Batman has restored his basic combat capabilities, and accurate data and methodology have greatly saved research and adjustment time.

The rebels took out the name of Batman and began to fight back.

But this has nothing to do with Lucien. He neither hangs around in front of Batman nor follows the Joker, which is surprising.

Returned to that fake home that looked like a photo studio.

……

The bloodstains were cleaned up, and the word "heresy" written on the wall was completely removed and repaired.

Lucien looked around the place where he had lived for two years.

Dried potted plants, slightly dusty furniture, and light shining through the foggy glass create a Tyndall effect.

He looked for a rag, a broom, a mop, and started cleaning again.

Opening the window to let the stuffy air out, Lucien thought about how he rarely did housework when Jenny was alive.

It’s not that Jenny didn’t have work, they worked the same hours, but Jenny was careful, gentle, and hardworking enough that she had cleaned up quietly before Lucien noticed.

Four hours later, Lucien looked at his home, which had basically returned to normal, and sat on the new sofa - the original sofa had been replaced because it was stained with blood and mucus and could not be cleaned.

He didn't know what to look at, but his eyes finally moved to the table in front of him - the table where the head and fetus had once been placed.

Lucien began to reflect.

He began to question himself: Perhaps it was his male chauvinism that made him intentionally ignore Jenny's efforts, and then he took everything for granted just by "acting"... He began to think about the feminist movement, which had nothing to do with all this.

But his thoughts were scattered, and apart from this, Lucian didn't know what to think.

The wind came in through the window and finally blew away the rotten smell.

Time passed slowly, and Lucien closed his eyes and fell asleep unconsciously.

……

He had a dream.

I dreamed that there was a person standing in the crowd, instigating and saying something. I couldn’t hear the voice clearly. When I turned around, I saw the person stretching his limbs and dancing.

This was a lucid dream, lucid enough for Lucian to offer a sober assessment: "Not as good as Arthur's dance."

He saw the man carrying out a massacre, completely destroying a city with guns and knives and with cunning words.

Flames rose from Gotham, and the crowd was like fireworks, facing their destined annihilation after the dazzling brilliance.

Lucian watched everything quietly. He didn't know what the meaning of this dream was - until the man turned around, revealed his face, and handed the gun to Lucian, he really didn't know what the meaning of this dream was.

……

Lucien originally thought that this was the work of the Joker, who used unknown means to make him have such a dream. The purpose was not only for fun but also to seduce him.

He took the gun, a very old Jennings, cheap and prone to accidental discharge.

He reached out to remove the magazine, as he didn't want to accidentally kill the person in front of him.

Finally, Lucien looked up at him and raised his eyebrows - a question, waiting for an explanation.

That self also looked up, their eyes met, eyebrows raised, with the same expression, as if he was also questioning.

No one speaks.

Until Lucian reached out his hand tentatively and touched the smooth mirror.

……

It was dusk again, and he woke up. Lucian felt a little cold. He tilted his head and saw it was the wind, so he got up, closed the window, turned on the light, rubbed his eyebrows, and looked around.

Neat and rigid, with only Jenny's daily necessities and little habits left behind.

He stood there for a long time before he finally remembered that he should cook.