"Name?"

"Philip Best."

"Okay, Jack."

The clown was lying on the hospital bed, and Schiller stood beside the bed with the medical record book. He said, "You better call out your psychologist's personality as soon as possible and tell your symptoms, otherwise I'll write it nonsense."

"Unlock my right hand, I want to smoke a cigarette," Jack shook his hair and said, and Schiller walked up and unbuttoned his right hand tied to the handrail of the hospital bed. Jack gestured a gun with his hand, and then aimed at Schiller.

Schiller went to move a chair, sat down next to his hospital bed, and found a recorder and a blank tape from the cabinet. He put the tape into the recorder and pressed the button to start recording.

"Okay, let's talk about your life."

Jack curled his lips, glanced at the tape recorder, then looked at Schiller, and said, "My name is Philip Best, a truck driver who serves the Anta Gang..."

Jack talked a lot about his mortgage and car loans, he went to the supermarket to stock up on weekends, his neighbor next door caught fire, etc.

Schiller pressed the recorder and continued, "Okay, next one."

Jack looked at him, and he also looked at Jack. The two of them stared at each other for a long time. Schiller said to him: "What do you think of me? Make up another one quickly, I'll be useful."

Jack raised his head and shook it, rolled his eyes, muttered a few words in his tone of Shiller, and then he made up an origin for himself.

In this way, Schiller asked the clown to write more than a dozen origin stories for himself, and then satisfactorily took the tape off the recorder.

As the saying goes, garbage is the misplaced resources. The origin story created by the clown for himself is not only real and reasonable, but also rich in details and vivid. As long as the background of the times is changed, it can be used as a fake identity with rich personalities.

Schiller did not forget that he had many agents inserted in the Arkham Sanatorium in Marvel, and this fake identity was just right.

Jack leaned his body to the side, stretched his head to look at Schiller, his eyes widened, and he said, "Do you know? I hate two kinds of people the most, one is too ordinary people, and the other is a person who looks very much like me.

"And you, you are obviously a person who looks very similar to me, but Jack, the most professional psychology master in the world, tells you that you can't do it, hahahahahaha!"

After he finished laughing, Schiller took the spine of his notebook and sucked his injured hand. Jack screamed in pain, and then let out a series of even more crazy laughs. He said, "You were hit by me! I poked it to the pain! You can never be an ordinary person, hahahahahaha!"

Schiller took a deep breath and said, "After today's consultation, you get out of the ordinary ward. Do you know how precious the beds here are? Let's delay my money."

"Money? Hahahahahahahaha!" Jack laughed even harder, and the hospital bed started to tremble because of his laughter. After a while, he choked himself and began to cough wildly, then reached out to Schiller and said, "Water, thank you."

Schiller didn't hand it to him, and he didn't mind, but stopped laughing and slumped in the bed and gasped. He said, "That joke is funny, right? If there is a cinema that can really buy tickets with popcorn, I will definitely buy tickets for a whole week in a row and watch all the movies I haven't finished."

Suddenly he became deeper again, sighed and said, "It's ridiculous for them to pursue money, right? What's even more ridiculous is that the money they pursue is no different from popcorn..."

"And the ridiculous thing is, hahaha..." He started laughing again, making himself tremble all over. "The ridiculous thing is that there is a madman who knows that money is popcorn, but he still pursues it, hahahahaha..."

"Why? Because he was crazy! He felt... he actually felt that as long as he pursued fame and fortune like ordinary people, he could become an ordinary person, hahahahahahaha..."

He noticed Schiller looking silently, Jack grinned and said, "Why are you so serious? Didn't you laugh happily in the theater before?"

"Because, the reason why hell jokes are funny is because it's someone else's hell." Schiller stood up again and said, "It's of course it's interesting to see Batman's fun, you think so, right?"

Jack used the hand that was released to wipe the tears of laughter. He did not act as crazy as he was in the theater, but rather seemed normal, but even more weird.

"To be honest, I didn't expect you to be so supportive. I really love this place so much!"

"You should thank the Owl Court. The continuous heavy rains they had more or less affected the residents here, and all the residents. Even if they were not wet in the rain, they would inevitably inhale the water from the air when they breathed, so everyone was a little crazy."

"I know, of course I know... Otherwise, why would I tell my plan on TV? I know someone will come, there must be a group of annoying people..." Jack gritted his teeth the previous second, and the next second he said in a humble tone: "Oh, no, it's the noble audience, there will be someone to enjoy the comedy performance brought by this poor clown..."

"Only except Batman, he doesn't want to come, I have to take him there."

"This is exactly where I hate the Owl Court the most. They have created a rain that can make people crazy, but this rain is only useless for Batman, they are idiots." Jack said viciously.

"You are lying again. If this rain really works for Batman, the Owl Court will definitely be thousands of times worse than it is now."

Jack pouted and whistled twice, as if he was covering up his lying behavior. He moved his body and leaned himself against the pillow, saying as if he had found a soulmate: "Look, do you think so too? Batman was actually a lunatic, but he didn't admit that it would be too boring if there were any external factors that drove him crazy."

"You said, did he really want to laugh at the performance yesterday?" Jack blinked, his somewhat muddy eyes full of longing, and his tone became excited again. "I hid in the alley before, secretly watched him several times, watching him interrupt the hands and feet of the robbers."

"But he is so serious." Jack complained, "Can't he be happy? How could he not be happy when he listened to the robbers' wailing and the criminals he hated and hated most begged for mercy in his hands? Since he is happy, why don't he laugh?"

Whenever Batman was mentioned, Jack was talking endlessly, but Schiller was not interested in listening to his crazy words. He tapped the side of the notebook with a pen and said, "I also have two kinds of people I hate the most, one is the one who causes trouble for me, and the other is the one who is confident after the trouble."

Before Jack could say anything, Schiller continued: "It seems that we are the kind of people that each other hates the most. Since we are tired of each other, we should stop talking. Tomorrow you move to the next ward and live with Copper."

Jack snorted from his nose, and he said, "You scholar."

The next day at noon, Schiller had just returned from the cafeteria and found Jack squatting at the door of the ward crying. He leaned against the door frame of the ward, covering his face, crying sadly.

Schiller passed by him without looking at him. Jack grabbed his white coat and said, "Oh my God! How could there be such a boring person in this world? How could you arrange for me to be in a ward with him?"

He grabbed Schiller's white coat with one hand and never let go. He wiped tears that did not exist with the other hand, and said, "He just told me a joke, but even this joke was extremely boring."

"He actually said he wanted to open a restaurant, do you know? Then he actually wanted to build an iceberg in the restaurant, my god..."

"I always thought that dressing up as a bat is already perverted enough, but someone actually wants to dress up as a penguin, penguin, hahahahahahaha!"

"Doctor, they are all crazy, you have to save me!" Jack began to tremble all over. "I don't want to be with these crazy people!"

Schiller bent down, grabbed his wrist, pulled his hands off his clothes, and bent down to Jack, "First of all, this is a psychiatric hospital, if you or one of him is not crazy, you won't be here."

"Secondly, it's not the time to let go. If you dare to run out of the ward again, I will fire Batman from Gotham University and let him go to the metropolis to study, and you will never see him again."

Jack got up quickly, ran to the hospital bed and lay down, and covered the quilt. He hummed a song and said, "Little Jack is going to sleep well, hum...sing a lullaby..."

He closed one eye and pretended to be asleep, while the other eye was secretly opened, peeking at Schiller's reaction.

Copper next to him sighed deeply, and he looked at Schiller by the door and said, "Doctor, I suggest you change him to the next ward."

He pointed to the wall behind his back with his thumb, saying, "Evans must have a very common language with him."

"More importantly, if this lunatic stays, I will definitely beat him up."

"Okay, he'll live with Evans tomorrow."

The next day, Schiller came back after lunch, and he found that somehow Jack had climbed to the observation window at the height of the wall. He rode on the observation window, moving his body clumsyly, as if he wanted to turn it out.

Before Schiller could ask what was going on, Evans's roar came from inside: "You actually like those musical comedies! And it actually insults classicism!! I really misread you. Those new operas are completely blasphemy to operas!!"

"You are crazy!" Jack rode on the observation window, waving his fists and shouted: "Those Baroque operas are old things! Monteverdi is completely rubbish! They don't know humor at all!"

As he said that, he shook his head and learned a few singing lines. His dry voice and strange singing style were all emotional and without any skills.

He spitted all over the famous Baroque opera and classical opera masters at the height of the observation window, and Evans threw him with a pillow.

Not to mention anything else, Evans was quite strong. He stood underneath and used a pillow to stick Jack's face hard. Jack had already injured his arm and couldn't grasp the wall. He fell directly outside the ward and landed in front of Schiller.

He was still angry and wanted to get up and rush back to the ward, and continued to argue with Evans. Schiller grabbed his clothes and said, "Do you want to go back and get beaten? You don't really think you can beat him, right?"

Jack was so angry that he shouted: "He doesn't understand music at all, that idiot! Classical opera is just whining without any illness. Can you imagine? There are still old-fashioned people who like those things now, and only comedy operas and musicals are interesting!"

Evans held the door frame and poked his upper body out and shouted: "It's you who have no taste! You damn madman!"

"You are the madman!"
Chapter completed!