SUP Chapter 107: Joker Recording, Dream Outbreak

The roar of the Hellcat's engine was particularly eye-catching on the streets of Metropolis.

Who wouldn't love a dramatically styled muscle car? Especially when there was a handsome boy sitting on its roof, which could attract quite a few gazes from passersby.

Ian wasn't pleased about this, he was focused intently on watching a tutorial video on his phone. Of course, watching the video didn't prevent him from keeping an eye out for opportunities to do good deeds in Metropolis.

One eye watching the video.

One eye observing in all directions.

Any normal person who understood organ management could do this. Ian's sharp right eye quickly caught sight of a "daily mission", he saw a pair of shy people gazing deeply into each other's eyes.

There was that feeling of wanting to kiss but being too shy.

Not daring to break through that final barrier.

"This is the moment when a superhero's help is needed." Ian threw a donut at the back of the boy's head, which was originally a gift he had prepared for Dr. Hannibal.

For a gourmet who ate quite a lot of meat.

Vegetarian food was definitely the most thoughtful gift.

"Splat~"

This time, Ian's throwing skills remained as stable as ever. He didn't manage to help the boy and girl, but instead scared them both, though his donut ultimately wasn't thrown in vain.

This was ultimately a fortunate accident.

The donut hit two good brothers who were shopping together, making the boy whose clothes got hit think he had been shot, instinctively diving straight into his good brother's arms.

"Cameron, I'm scared, quick, help me see if I've been hit by a bullet, I saw red." The thinner boy was really trembling with fear.

After all, this was the land of the free, America.

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, Mitchell, it's just a troublemaker throwing cow dung—no wait, this seems to be a donut, and it's a high-end donut from [John's Kitchen]."

The chubby good brother's expression was first shocked, then stunned, then relieved. He only needed two seconds to react before hugging the boy in his arms and softly comforting him.

"You actually dare to taste it, you're so brave."

The bearded man called Mitchell expressed his heartfelt admiration.

The two completely embraced each other.

Obviously, they had broken through the shackles of morality and prejudice. Boys and boys could also give birth to girls, through adoption, so how could this not count as Lord Ian doing a good deed? This was exactly the time management skills a superhero should have, not forgetting to do some good deeds on the way to see a psychologist.

"Anyway, I win again, merit +1." Ian continued watching the horseback riding tutorial video while sitting on the car roof. He chose to sit on the car roof for a reason, of course. This was all for the sake of the world, if Ian didn't sit on top of the car, how would people know he was riding a miraculous divine machine beneath his buttocks, racing like the wind?

A car that could kill people and escape by itself.

Not everyone had one.

Occasionally showing off was very beneficial for physical and mental health.

Besides, a Hellcat was also a cat.

Cats were animals.

So a Hellcat should be called a mount. It was precisely because he understood such a simple truth that Ian realized he shouldn't be sitting in the car, but should be sitting on top of it.

If not for the fact that there were no videos of riding cats online, only videos of being eaten by cats, Ian definitely wouldn't have chosen to watch horseback riding tutorials, where the equestrian instructor was equipped with massive amounts of silicone in her buttocks that were too distracting.

"Riding a horse and riding a cat have commonalities, which is sitting in the area where I'm sitting now..." Ian adjusted his position, and the Hellcat continued driving forward.

He knew he was sitting in the correct position, because the familiar traffic officer he encountered no longer stopped him. This officer who he had met for the third time was targeting truly lawbreaking drivers.

He was issuing a ticket to a car suspected of dangerous driving.

"Look at that boy! That boy isn't even sitting in the driver's seat while driving, so what's wrong with me and my girlfriend, three people sitting in the driver's seat together?"

The drunk driver pointed at the passing Hellcat, dissatisfied.

The traffic officer just looked back.

Their eyes met.

He pretended not to see Ian.

"Precisely because he's not sitting in the driver's seat, how dare you define him as driving? I'm well-versed in the law and know that a car running on the street by itself doesn't count as breaking the law."

The traffic officer might be going bald a bit early, but his intelligence had obviously been catching up with his baldness recently. Such rigorous logic left the driver speechless.

"The officer makes sense, I saw it, there's no one in the driver's seat, he definitely doesn't count as driving." The heavily made-up girl even chose to side with the police.

"Yeah, yeah, you've been drinking, you might not have seen clearly, that car really is running by itself." Another girl chimed in, and the two girls together might not have finished elementary school.

They thought it was reasonable.

The police also thought it was reasonable.

The drunk driver, afraid of being excluded and with childhood shadows of not fitting in starting to surface, immediately began to feel that perhaps such things really were reasonable.

"I was wrong."

The driver shamefully lowered his head.

The scene was harmonious.

Ian gently passed by.

Without waving his sleeves or taking away any clouds. However, the people of Metropolis had obviously begun to possess superior thinking methods in localized areas under his positive influence.

"Vroom vroom vroom~"

The Hellcat flicked its tail.

And stopped directly in front of the office building where Dr. Hannibal was located. Most capable psychologists in America actually had their own clinics and would rent entire floors like Hannibal did.

Of course, not every psychologist had the capital to rent floors in Metropolis's bustling commercial district, after all, the rent was expensive. Only truly wealthy doctors could afford the burden.

Hannibal was indeed excellent enough.

"The city is full of people, elites everywhere."

Ian felt that Dr. Hannibal had also mastered the knack of win-win situations. There were many white-collar workers in the central area under great mental pressure, and he could make money while also having richer food choices.

For a cannibal, what could be better than this hunting ground?

"Nothing."

Ian answered for Hannibal, then nimbly jumped down from the Hellcat's roof.

"Go find a free parking space yourself, good boy." After briefly instructing his mount, Ian entered the building. When he got into the elevator, there was already a lady in a business suit inside.

She was holding a five or six-year-old boy with one hand and a phone with the other.

"Listen, I need to go to my parents' house for dinner, yes, they're sick." The woman said to her husband on the phone, "So, I might need to trouble you to pick up the child."

She gently finished the call with her husband, then dialed another number, her voice immediately becoming much sweeter, "Mr. Allen, I've prepared the contract."

"Yes, I'll take you to see the house again later. As long as we have a good discussion in your future new home, I believe you'll be able to feel the charm of that house."

The woman was obviously a real estate agent.

She was using special house-selling techniques.

"Oh oh, I brought the popping candy."

"Perhaps you could prepare an iced cola for me?"

While the woman was flirting.

Ian felt this wasn't something a child should learn, so he secretly covered the child's ears, then remembered he was also a child and covered his own ears too.

It was useless but he could pretend it was useful, at least the sense of ritual was maxed out.

"Hmm? What are you looking at?" Seeing the child keep staring at him, Ian glanced at the woman who had her back to him and reached out to wipe the child's eyelids.

Unexpectedly, the move that even Superman had difficulty dealing with, which was usually invincible, actually failed on this little brat. After Ian removed his hand, the child opened his eyes again and stared at Ian.

"Heh."

Feeling challenged, Ian brought out his real skills.

"Ding~"

When the elevator door opened.

Ian walked out, and the woman who had just finished her call turned around to find that her child was somehow wearing "glasses" made from shoelaces and eggshells on his face.

It looked ridiculous but the child, who couldn't see anything, was very happy.

Meanwhile, Ian, who had hidden his accomplishments and fame, had already arrived at the reception desk. At the reception desk, the young front desk lady showed Ian a genuinely warm smile.

"Mr. Kent, there are still twenty minutes until your appointment with Dr. Hannibal. You can rest in the waiting area." The front desk lady made a welcoming gesture to Ian.

"Alright."

Ian had no resistance this time, after all, as a wise man, he came at a calculated time for a reason. Just like the law that home flowers aren't as fragrant as wild flowers.

Men were the same from childhood to adulthood.

So the most fun things would always be other people's toys.

Ian was still thinking about his unfinished work, but when he stepped into the waiting area, he felt helpless. The Gundam he hadn't finished assembling last time had been dismantled by some kid who came for treatment.

"Hell is specially prepared for such people." Ian was secretly annoyed. He could only pour out a box of Lego blocks again and start a new round of building. This time Ian wasn't planning to build a Gundam, he wanted to build Tiger King, the animated character that could crawl out of TV screens whose special move was Storm Nebula Split.

"I still love cats so much."

Just as Ian was concentrating.

"Little friend, did you come by yourself?"

Suddenly, a gentle voice struck up a conversation beside him. Ian turned his head and saw that the man who had been dozing next to him seemed to have woken up and was taking off his glasses to wipe the fogged lenses. This person had light brown curly hair and tired but gentle blue eyes, wearing a slightly wrinkled but very clean checkered shirt.

"Will Graham?"

Ian tentatively asked.

His gaze fell on the book "Criminal Psychology" placed on the man's knees.

"Good observation skills."

The man was surprised for a moment, looking down at the instructor nameplate on his chest that he hadn't taken off yet. He probably thought Ian had seen this and read out his name.

"It really is you."

Ian was somewhat astonished. He had watched the TV series and even movies of "Hannibal" and knew that Will was the person who had a love-hate relationship with Hannibal, the cannibal. This was a character with [empathy] abilities who could put himself in the victim's perspective and reconstruct death scenes. He wondered if this counted as a superpower in this world.

"Hmm? Have you heard of me?"

The man named Will was even more surprised.

He was a criminal profiler who occasionally provided criminal analysis teaching for FBI recruits. By all accounts, a little boy shouldn't show such familiarity toward him.

To this, Ian gave no response.

"If I told you I came with my good friend, would you think I have a mental illness?" He just answered Will's original question.

Will was stunned for a moment.

Then he showed a gentle smile, as if he could empathize with such things, "No, because everyone has their own imaginary friends when they're young."

This remark made Ian put down the Lego blocks in his hands.

"Did you have imaginary friends when you were young too?"

He seemed suddenly interested, staring straight at Will.

"Uh..." Will scratched his head.

"Of course."

He gave an affirmative response.

This should have been an extremely heartwarming response.

"Then it seems you really do have a mental illness." After thinking for a moment, Ian delivered a definitive verbal blow, which made Will, who was about to drink water, choke badly.

Ian was still staring at him.

Feeling the atmosphere was quite awkward, Will hurriedly changed the subject, "Actually, I just wanted to know how your parents treat you, because I smell blood on you."

"I'm quite certain that's not animal blood."

His nostrils twitched slightly.

Looking exactly like a police dog sniffing for evidence.

"What a dog nose." Ian looked down at the dark red stain on his sleeve cuff, which was 666-grade fuel that had dripped when he accidentally held the demon head in his hands while playing with it this morning.

"What if I said I'm having my period, would you believe me?"

Ian gave another rhetorical question.

"Ah? That can't be right?"

Will's expression froze instantly. He couldn't help but examine Ian's overly delicate features, beginning to suspect whether he had mistaken a girl for a boy.

Seeing Will's expression full of doubt and uncertainty.

"Heh."

Ian simply chuckled.

"I have a mental illness, and you believe what I say? Your condition is definitely not light."

He certainly knew he didn't have a mental illness, but saying he had a mental illness was really useful at times like this, silencing Will with one sentence.

The air was somewhat silent.

Fortunately, the sweet voice of the reception desk lady saved Will, who was extremely speechless.

"Mr. Kent, Dr. Hannibal is ready to see you now." The reception desk lady wanted to take Ian's hand, but Ian didn't let her take advantage of him.

"Alright, thank you."

Ian remained polite.

He stood up and washed his hands with disinfectant first.

"Oh, by the way."

Ian looked at Will again. He had kept Will in a state of shocked open-mouthed expression not out of boredom, "You have a curly hair stuck in your teeth."

"I'm also certain that's not animal hair." The boy grinned, showing two rows of neat white teeth. After leaving behind a chilling remark, he turned and walked toward Hannibal's office.

"..."

Will sat in his chair.

His gaze toward Ian's retreating figure flickered constantly.

As the office door opened and closed, Ian also walked into the treatment room. Dr. Hannibal's office was very tidy, looking like a carefully composed still life painting.

Dark brown solid wood bookshelves occupied an entire wall, neatly lined with professional works with gold-embossed spines. Two leather armchairs faced each other with a small coffee table in between, on which sat an exquisite tea set. Soft wall lamps illuminated the room warmly without being harsh, and there was even an antique gramophone in the corner.

At this moment it was playing an extremely peaceful piece.

"Welcome back, Ian." Hannibal sat in a leather office chair with his legs crossed, holding a notebook in his hands, his expression composed and carrying a kind of aristocratic elegance.

He looked up and showed a slight smile.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Lecter." Ian looked back at the door. His mood wasn't actually calm, he wanted to mention Will but didn't know how to bring it up for the moment.

Go straight?

Ian had initially thought this, but now he was somewhat uncertain.

Just as Ian was weighing the potential consequences if he "fought crime" and made a mistake.

"What would you like to drink?"

Hannibal stood up and walked toward the refrigerator.

"Cola is fine."

Ian said while also taking out his gift, a delicate small box containing a peeled egg. Having lost his donut, he had bought a new gift.

"For me?"

Hannibal's expression remained unchanged as he walked back with a bottle of cola and a glass.

"That's right. I originally prepared a donut, but I used it to save a love story." Ian began telling one of his few remaining truths for the day.

"That's very nice."

Hannibal poured the cola into the ice-filled glass and handed it to Ian.

"So what about this eggshell? Was that also used for good deeds?" He asked Ian while casually placing the remaining cola bottle on the table.

"No, I just used it to benefit myself."

Ian took the cola and sat down on the sofa across from Hannibal. He temporarily modified his original statement, after all, he needed to be a great leader that neither men nor women could figure out.

[Leader LV1 (1/10)]

The system panel could prove Ian had that qualification.

"You can take off your colored contacts." Hannibal also sat back in his chair, picked up his pen, and turned to Ian's page in his patient record notebook.

"I can't take them off."

Ian sighed helplessly.

He also missed his azure eyes, but obviously couldn't change them back now.

"Mm."

Hannibal didn't continue asking, just began recording information in his notebook. The scratching sound of the pen on paper strangely merged with the music from the gramophone.

"I've been in contact with your parents." He suddenly continued, "Your mother thinks you've become much more cheerful, while Clark believes you need more treatment."

Hannibal looked up.

"I'm very curious, what changes happened to you after the last treatment?" His tone carried some curiosity, as if Ian's condition was somewhat unexpected to him.

"I became a sunny, cheerful big boy, completely transformed." Ian remembered to be sufficiently honest with psychologists, so he even began advancing tomorrow's truth.

"I think I've completely recovered, with no signs of anxiety disorder whatsoever." This was also the truth for Ian, however, Hannibal just stared at him with deep eyes.

"You're saying what you think is the truth, but it's not true." Hannibal's gaze was as sharp as a scalpel, his treatment process still loved going straight to the point.

Hearing this, Ian hurriedly drank some cola to calm himself.

"Alright, I admit it, I think I'm beyond help. You know what? My cousin gave me penguin cola to drink, that's Gotham sewage, I must have been infected with the Joker virus."

If there was anything else that might cause anxiety, Ian could only think of this after much contemplation, even though he had already confirmed he wasn't infected with any Joker virus.

But who could say for sure about such things.

"Joker virus? Interesting way to put it." Hannibal imperceptibly turned the cola can on the coffee table to hide the "Penguin Cola" lettering printed on it.

This was to prevent Ian's anxiety from worsening.

Penguin Cola.

Hannibal occasionally drank it too.

He didn't believe there were any viruses added to it.

[Persecution Complex]

The pen moved across the paper.

Hannibal circled Ian's previously exhibited symptoms again.

"I don't think this is interesting at all. Of course, if you like building your happiness on my pain, that's another matter." Ian was secretly observing Hannibal's expression.

He gulped down several more sips of the iced cola in his hand.

"When I said interesting, I wasn't mocking you, but I thought of something." Hannibal's voice was rich and powerful, "One of your elders came to see me not long ago."

His words made Ian freeze.

"Perhaps because of my professional capabilities, that elder of yours asked me to help him analyze a recording... and I heard similar statements to yours in it."

Hannibal lowered his voice.

"Bruce Wayne?"

This was the name Ian locked onto after thinking it over.

"Yes, that wealthy man. I didn't expect your family had this connection." Hannibal nodded to confirm Ian's guess, but this made Ian even more confused.

The boy's eyes shook somewhat.

It was strange enough that Superman hadn't discovered Hannibal's problem.

Now even Batman had let this cannibal go?

This was too unreasonable.

Even Ian's own twisted logic could hardly explain it.

"What are you thinking?"

Hannibal stared at Ian and asked.

"Can I hear the recording?"

Ian just made a request without stating his thoughts. His words made Hannibal's lips curl up, obviously having anticipated Ian's request.

"In principle, I wouldn't do that, but... rules sometimes need to be broken." Hannibal got up and walked toward the back, searching through filing cabinets.

"After all, although I think that elder of yours is quite ill, he's not my patient, and he didn't ask me to keep this recording of unknown origin confidential."

Hannibal walked back with a tape recorder.

He emphasized that he still very much observed patient confidentiality agreements.

Rather unnecessarily because Ian didn't care about confidentiality at all.

"Yes, he's the one who's really mentally ill. You're truly a capable psychologist." Ian couldn't help but praise Hannibal, whose words resonated strongly with him.

Bruce Wayne deserved to be harshly criticized.

The news he learned at noon today made Ian angrier the more he thought about it. He hadn't even prepared to start from scratch, yet Batman had directly crushed his dream of getting rich.

Anyone would curse Bruce Wayne to death over this.

"It seems you have quite an opinion of this elder of yours." Hannibal looked thoughtful as he activated the tape recorder in his hand, and the machine made a slight humming sound.

As Hannibal pressed play, the tape began turning.

He only played a small portion of the recording content, but even this small portion was enough to leave Ian dumbfounded.

A man's anxious voice came from the recording, "Oh, doctor, save me, you must save me, you have to save me, I feel like I've gotten sick recently."

"A very serious illness! I'm done for!"

The man's voice was filled with despair.

Then, a psychologist's voice responded.

"What illness do you think you have?"

This female doctor's voice sounded very gentle.

"Huff huff huff~"

There was the sound of a patient sniffling.

"Like I said, I'm infected with a virus, a very terrible virus. Um, yes, the Ian virus. You probably haven't heard of it, but that doesn't affect how terrible it is."

"The Ian virus has completely infected me, making me restless almost every night recently... As long as I can't see 'Batman's Tragic Romance,' I want to kill people."

The man's helpless voice trembled.

"Have you read this book? You haven't? Then I'll burn it for you to see. 'Batman's Tragic Romance' brings me peace, perhaps it can also let you rest in peace."

Suddenly, the roar of a chainsaw was deafening.

"Damn! Where did this chainsaw come from! No! You can't do this! I can give you money! I have lots of money!" The psychologist's terrified screams were hysterical.

"Don't be afraid, doctor, I'm just proving to you that I'm not lying." The man's voice suddenly became calm, followed by a series of bone-chilling screams.

Soon, the screams turned to silence.

"Where did you put your anesthetics? Why aren't you talking? If you don't talk, I'll assume you're cured... Next patient, please..." It seemed someone had put on the doctor's clothes.

He spoke in a deliberately deep voice.

Just then, Hannibal gently turned off the tape recorder.

The room was left with only Bach's melody from the gramophone.

"..."

Ian was struck silent.

The chainsaw sounds from the recording seemed to still echo in his ears.

He unconsciously swallowed.

"Your expression tells me you know this person." Hannibal's dark brown pupils were incredibly deep, and he wasn't using a question but a statement.

"Hmm?"

Ian's fingers unconsciously rubbed the condensation on his glass.

The cold touch helped him calm down a bit.

"He's just my crazy obsessed fan who wrote me letters, but I'm actually not familiar with him." Ian knew he had to painfully cut ties with his fan.

This after all involved a suspected massacre incident.

"Is that so." Hannibal's pen paused on the paper, ink bleeding into an dark blue flower on the expensive parchment. His gaze strangely looked Ian up and down for a moment.

"I'm surprised you don't feel inner guilt and torment because of this." Hannibal's voice was rich and powerful, carrying a thoughtful flavor.

"Why should I feel guilty? Batman should be the one feeling guilty, he failed to catch and imprison this nemesis of his." Ian's expression showed unprecedented seriousness.

His thinking wasn't led astray by Hannibal's inquiry.

"You heard it too, right? This person said he wants to kill when he can't see my book, which proves that when he's reading my book, he doesn't want to kill. God must know how many people have escaped danger because of this." Ian's tone had a rare seriousness, this time he truly believed his merit was immeasurable.

"Perhaps that's so."

Hannibal nodded lightly.

He didn't refute.

He didn't even make many notes in his notebook.

The Joker was Batman's responsibility.

Even non-Gotham residents knew this common knowledge.

"However, you should also maintain sufficient vigilance."

Hannibal unexpectedly reminded Ian, "Have you thought about the possibility that in order to see your stories every day, this fan of yours might eventually kidnap you?"

This was a worry only someone from an ordinary person's perspective would have.

Ian nodded but didn't respond.

"Actually, there's another possibility, that your wealthy elder can't protect you either. In order to appease that man long-term, Batman might very well capture you..."

Hannibal was about to share some of his speculation.

"BOOM!!!"

Suddenly, with a violent explosion.

The entire building shook violently.

"Missile attack?"

Hannibal's collection of crystal glasses clinked together, producing clear laments. Hardcover books from the bookshelf crashed down with a clatter, and even this doctor was knocked to the ground by the tremor.

"Whoosh~"

Ian almost instinctively rushed to the window, his palm slapping against the cold glass with a "smack."

"It's not a missile."

He gave a negative response.

His pupils shook extremely violently at this moment.

"It's a supernatural disaster..."

Ian's voice carried undisguisable shock.

His pupils reflected light.

The distant street seemed to be experiencing a collapse beyond the level of reality. Street lamps bent into impossible angles. Countless concrete fragments defied gravity, floating in mid-air like an explosion scene with the pause button pressed. At the center of the storm, a white-haired old woman floated in agony in mid-air, struggling continuously.

Around her body, space twisted and deformed like crumpled tin foil.

No flames, no smoke, all changes spread outward from the old woman as center, like a drop of ink slowly spreading in clear water. This was a terrifying outbreak caused by loss of power control!

"Dream power! Could it be that Morpheus has had another problem?" Ian's mind raced, his expression management nearly losing control. He could see dream ripples devouring the street, surging toward his building like a tide. The moment several pedestrians were affected, their bodies instantly became translucent, with flickering stardust appearing under their skin, as if being absorbed by terrifying power!

"Ahhhhh!"

Painful wails echoed and fluctuated.

That white-haired old woman floated hundreds of meters above ground, her body twisting.

Layer upon layer of translucent ripples spread outward from her as center, like ripples on water. Each time the waves spread outward, reality's distortion would spread along with them.

"Little one, 'another' problem... you even know about such things. Is there anything you don't know?"

A voice sounded behind him. Ian whipped around, only to see that where Hannibal should have been sitting in his armchair, there now sat an elegantly dressed woman in black.

Ian was dumbfounded.

Outside the window, from within the old woman's body, layers upon layers of dream power continued spreading outward.

"Tsk tsk, some people, if they didn't have such thick skin, should be starting to feel guilty right about now."

The woman who had taken over the magpie's nest folded her pale hands on her knees, turned the chair to face Ian, her eyes completely black, her tone carrying some wistful amusement.

She was…

Death.

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