Summoner from a certain American comic

Adam turned the diary to the back.

I sat back on the bed. There was a dirty mirror next to the toilet at the foot of the bed, which was not very bright. I looked at myself in the mirror. I still had the same albino skin and hair. The blue-red blood vessels were shallowly buried under the skin. My eyes were shining in the dark. Looking so blurry, I really looked like a madman.

So I simply relaxed my mind and lay down on the hard bed to take a nap.

My and Yvonne's confinement ended for the night, of course because I threatened the caretakers again.

In the cafeteria we went to together, the little girl had calmed down and became the quiet, thin little girl again.

I rubbed her withered and knotted curly hair, and she bared her teeth at me.

There are benefits to being feared. For example, on my plate is a unique candy given by the cafeteria aunt.

It is said to be unique, but in fact it is just the cheapest low-quality fruit hard candy sold outside.

But in Arkham, this is a high-end snack.

So those crazy people were no longer afraid of me, and a lot of them were taken away before I noticed.

Yvonne and Dom's mouths were bulging and clicking, and they were chewing my candy. I felt heartache and hurriedly protected my plate.

Eating dry bread, I asked Yvonne: "Why is your doll so important?"

"Ah" there was confusion in the little girl's eyes. Dom also followed suit with a silly sound.

Yvonne thought for a long time before speaking intermittently: "Then that woman always pricks me secretly, and then gives me my blood, money, and then injects herself with hallucinations. So I will chop her while she is hallucinating. Got her. I tucked her hair into the doll."

After saying this, she reacted and shouted at me: "Doll, Doll, Grace, they took my doll away."

The crumbs in her mouth spurted out, and there were tears in her eyes: "Baby doll"

I suddenly felt very sad. I guessed that she still longed for that woman's company. What she really wanted to call was not a baby, but her mother.

She regarded the doll as a substitute for her mother, accompanying her to wither in this white cage.

I really couldn't bear to see the little girl crying pitifully, so I grabbed the remaining candies and stuffed them into her, "Yvonne, don't cry. I promise you will see your baby come tonight, eat the candies."

"That's okay." The little girl stopped crying immediately after taking the candy, or in other words, her tears were taken away before they even flowed out.

It took me a while to realize that the guy was cheating me out of my candy. I felt angry and funny, but also very distressed. Who says crazy people are stupid? As long as they think, they can be smarter than anyone else.

The little girl saw my expression and thought I was feeling sorry for the candy, so she also threw a candy on my plate with a distressed look on her face.

I actually laughed this time.

He also followed her example and threw the candy into his mouth, chewing it.

So she felt even more distressed, guarding the last few candies and refusing to eat them again.

Adam closed the diary and finally found what he was looking for, the doll.

The clown's headless body was lying on the floor. Adam, who had a bulging chest, took it out and saw that there was a doll stuffed in the clown's chest.

This doll exudes an inexplicable aura, strange and terrifying.

Adam closed his eyes and felt the doll carefully. There were countless terrifying ghosts on this doll. Maybe something happened in the former Arkham Asylum.

Adam turned the diary to the last page, and it could be seen that the diary was written by a different person.

I was born in Gotham's most chaotic neighborhood.

Even my mother doesn’t know who my father is, whether he is alive or dead.

Maybe I was just a product of my mother's drugged-up mistakes.

She is a lion trainer in the circus and a street girl.

My mother was a lunatic, or, as Grace would say, a zombie.

Her soul had flown away long ago, leaving only an empty shell living in this dirty world.

I think that my life and my existence may be the least important thing in her life.

My value to her is no different than a piece of waste paper or a small bottle cap, except to protect her from the boss's harassment.

She was drunk most of the time and sober only a few times.

She was relatively normal when she was sober. She would fry eggs for me while cursing, or bring back some roast chicken and beer from someone. She was crazy when she was drunk. Sometimes she regarded me as her guests, and sometimes she regarded me as her drug addict friends.

But no matter what she is, I love her. Because she is my mother.

Don't underestimate the word mother, okay.

Whether she's a lunatic like me or some kind of superhero, mom is special.

Especially in the eyes of children, mother is God.

So when she went crazy again, I ended her life. She died peacefully and happily, and she called my son for the first time.

I also helped her kill the disgusting class leader and the gangster who gave her her first joint. I started wearing fancy clothes, dyed my hair, and decided to become a clown.

Because the clown is the only one awake among the fifty-three playing cards.

I started to wonder who built this city

Who stipulated that there should be rich areas and slums?

Who maintains balance and order?

People living in this city turn a blind eye to these problems. They go to work and get off work, get drunk in the bar, and continue the next day.

Day after day, year after year, the cycle begins again and again.

I started asking my friends, and their answers were all the same: "Hey, are you crazy?"

"Who cares about this? It's definitely not something we can control anyway."

"Brother, are you short of wine?"

"Hey, he's crazy."

So I knew that I was probably the only one who thought about these questions, the only one who was sober.

And since I can't wake them up, it's better to break these balances.

After the order breaks down, the protagonist behind the scenes will appear, and everything will be revealed. Just like if the rabbit crawled out of the hat by itself, then the magician would definitely appear, stuff it back into the hat, and then prepare for the next performance

Then I came to Arkham Asylum. I had rarely heard of it before.

It is in a remote suburb, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

It houses a bunch of lunatics.

But when I actually arrived in Arkham, I realized that it completely overturned my world view.

I became an Arkham man, I got used to Arkham.

Things that don't kill you make you weird, but habits are also a scary thing and can make you a willing fool.

I have been assimilated into Arkham and become one with the people here.

I also met a woman I will never forget, Grace Ackerman.

The first time I saw her, she was standing in the crowd, but out of place.

Not only because of her charming charm, but also because of her skin color.

She may have had albinism before, and everything from her hair to her skin was white.

So I walked closer to her and saw her face clearly.

She is not good-looking, she is pretty at best, but her temperament has a magical power that makes people ignore her appearance and look straight into her soul.

So if we insist on classifying her, she will definitely be classified into the category of beauty, no, it will be even higher.

Because those women who have no appearance will only look like idiots standing next to her.

There are many good-looking ones, but too few have souls.

But then I really realized what a femme fatale is.

Grace Ackerman is such a badass person.

But she always insisted on the traditions of the older generation.

Finally, she and I

The diary ends here. The contents in the diary are not complete, but it also tells Adam who its owner is.

End of this chapter