Chapter 28

After more than half a year, Megan returned to the two-story house. She had been carried out of the car because her little head had not yet learned how to open a door—she perhaps lacked the very concept of such autonomy.

The burly subordinate brought her to the entrance. Standing in the deep night, he knocked on the door to wait for Bob, taking the opportunity to straighten her clothes and hair. She had been tucked away in a plastic bin and had endured a bumpy ride; her clothes were wrinkled, and her short, curly black hair was a tangled, frizzy mess.

Throughout the journey, Megan had been looking up at him, but he pretended not to notice. He had realized in the car that she was observing him, yet whenever he turned his head, she would lower hers, hiding away as if startled by a rustle in the grass.

As footsteps approached from inside, he suddenly said, "My name is Nelson Green." He had nothing else to say.

Nelson had seen her before. He had seen the frail child when the Joker first picked her up; he had seen the clockwork doll left on the street to test its responses; he had seen Megan Chris Damon return to her 'father.' While driving for the Joker, he was the person closest to this secret, yet he was unimaginably rigid, dull, and taciturn. The trait the Joker valued most in him was loyalty.

The door opened quickly. Bob, who had spotted them through the peephole, stood there timidly. His face was stiff, incapable of expression, paralyzed by the awe he felt for Nelson.

He had lived in this small house for a long time. Initially, he had been cautious and cowardly in his work, but he had followed orders and taken good care of Megan. Even when he had resorted to forceful measures, he felt at peace with it because he had to obey the Joker—this was the only thing he had been taught by the gang members during his month and a half with them.

Bob felt his work ethic was exceptionally diligent and meticulous, and the Joker had even praised him after seeing his method of raising the child! At the time, Bob had been thrilled and fired up; it was the first time he had received praise from a superior, and a high-profile boss at that!

However, he hadn't been able to enjoy his work for long before the child was taken away by the Joker. He wasn't assigned a new job and was left in this house, which had only been arranged for the sake of the mission. He remained anxious and confused until he gathered the courage to go to the Joker's gang to ask about the situation, which was when he ran into Nelson.

Nelson...

Standing before Nelson now, Bob was half a head shorter. He was actually five-foot-ten, but Nelson was simply too tall and massive—the ultimate thug among suit-wearing thugs.

Bob couldn't help but shiver. When he looked down and saw the familiar child, his eyes lit up.

When the Joker had taken her away, Bob had prayed that she would return safely. After more than half a year, he had given up hope, yet now she was back. She looked much healthier, and her expressions were far more vivid. But what struck him most viscerally was this:

He didn't recognize the brand of the clothes she was wearing, but he could tell the fabric and craftsmanship were excellent. They must have cost a fortune. These visible factors combined were enough to prove that she had been well cared for, save for her slightly messy hair, which was likely due to the wind blowing through the car window on the way.

A look of being moved appeared on his face. Before he could say anything, Nelson commanded, "This is still your mission. Take good care of Megan. And," he looked down at Megan. This time, she didn't dodge; she chose to meet his gaze.

There was no emotion in her eyes, nor were there any intentions being expressed, but Nelson knew she was completely different from her initial state. The boss, for the sake of some grand amusement that required continuous investment and would only manifest in the future, had caused her condition to improve, turning her into what she was now.

"Respect her wishes. You can choose to teach her, but your original approach will not work, Bob Davis."

Megan now possessed a sliver of self-awareness and could handle eating and resting on her own. Therefore, she could no longer be forced; he only needed to inform her, then guide her to familiarize herself and master these things. It was no different from raising a young, ignorant child, except that her cognitive development was a bit slower and required more patience.

Bob was stunned for a moment. He didn't understand the full meaning, but he was obedient and accepted the instruction. He did, however, notice that the child had a new name: Megan—a name that implied greatness and was also quite lovely. Perhaps it held high expectations for her.

Megan was still looking up at Nelson. Nelson turned slightly, crouched down to be at eye level with her, and said, "You’ve hit the jackpot, Megan. The boss has things to do, so you will stay here and live."

He was a large man, and even in a crouch, he was a massive figure. It was clear he possessed superior genetics, making him naturally robust, which contrasted with his elite, capable demeanor. Yet, the fact that he could be at the Joker's beck and call as an assistant, and manage the gang outside Arkham Asylum on the boss's behalf, was proof enough of his ability.

He had something else to add: "You are the boss's daughter. When I have time, I will call Bob so you can speak with the boss." It turned out he was truly professional; he didn't even question the fact that the Joker had a daughter and was so intently raising her, even thoughtfully making arrangements for her.

After all, they were father and daughter in name, and it seemed the Joker's interest in her had not waned in the slightest; he would continue to monitor her situation now and into the future.

After finishing, Nelson left in his car with swift efficiency, leaving Megan and Bob standing at the entrance.

Warm yellow light spilled from inside the house. Megan, a tiny child, stood outside looking up at him. Bob felt a bit awkward now, as if he were a shameless squatter who had usurped the house of the child in front of him. After a long silence, he said, "Um, well, I hope you remember that I'm the male nanny who took care of you."

"My name is Bob," he said, uttering meaningless words. He shifted his feet to the side, and seeing Megan following him with her eyes, he felt even more embarrassed.

Back then, taking care of the child the Joker had given him to raise was purely fueled by his passion for the job. But after she was taken away, he had experienced days of restless idleness, and then there were the times Nelson took him on missions...

Nelson had only taken him on one mission, and it had terrified him. He had suffered from heart palpitations for half a month afterward and was plagued by nightmares. They made Bob realize deeply that the Joker was a gang leader feared by all, and Nelson, as the executor of the Joker's will, was not exactly 'normal' either.

But regardless, he had to listen to the Joker and Nelson; he was just another clockwork puppet.

Now, looking down at the child named 'Megan,' he began to doubt himself again. Even if the Joker and Nelson were evil, they had managed to raise a child who was in such a terrible state into what she was now. Maybe they weren't entirely evil, right?

With only him and Megan left here, Bob said tentatively, "So, are you coming in? By the way, have you had dinner?"

He had hoped her symptoms would improve, but she still didn't answer. She walked in slowly, looking around. She seemed to be trying to familiarize herself with the house where she had spent some time, but she didn't remember much. Back then, she had no perception of most things, let alone memories.

Seeing her unfamiliarity with the place, Bob actually felt a sense of relief. As long as her attention was diverted, it was fine; otherwise, he was nearly crushed by guilt. He watched as Megan stepped inside, taking hesitant steps as if wary or guarded, her gaze sweeping everywhere, even the smallest thing catching her attention.

Bob hesitated to approach, but since she was better now than the ignorant child she used to be, he didn't know how to interact with her. "Do you want to eat? Is there anything you'd like?"

Megan turned a deaf ear, ignoring him completely. She was only curious about her environment. She lingered in the small area by the doorway for over ten minutes. Finally, discovering that no one was restraining her, she began to scuff her soles against the floor tiles and cautiously wander around.

The first place she went was the sofa. Perhaps, subconsciously, she remembered it slightly. She had countless times hidden herself in the gap between the sofa and the wall. At first, it hadn't been clean, and she had gotten dust all over her body and face, forcing Bob to deep-clean the house again, not missing a single corner.

She held her breath and reached out to touch the sofa, her movements light and careful. Her focused gaze landed on it, but would the sofa give her a response?

Why wouldn't it respond?

Megan was lost in confusion. For the first time today, she realized this problem. She had touched many objects before, but she had never had the consciousness to inquire, having had no cognition at all. So, what kind of response would the sofa give her?

It was just sitting there, being touched gently by her fingers, but it wouldn't make a sound. Even though the shadow of her fingers fell upon it—she had seen so many shadows, watched them for so long, and had long since become familiar with and recognized them—but apart from sound and light, surely it would give her a response, right?

For some reason, Megan was convinced she would get a response. She stared intently at the silent sofa that neither spoke nor moved. Her range of perception continued to expand; the sounds in her ears faded, and the light and shadow lost their sense of presence. Finally—

Her tactile perception extended, crossing an invisible boundary, causing her to tingle all over as if shocked. A brand-new perception, accompanied by cognition, washed over her. The rough texture was transmitted to her fingertips and then into her brain.

Megan pulled her hand back instantly. The finger that had touched the sofa felt itchy. She looked down, but there was nothing there. Rubbing her fingers together, she felt something strange, and suddenly, she blew a breath onto her fingers.

The air felt cool as it brushed over that finger and the surrounding skin, making the strange sensation even clearer.

However, these were just phenomena—they were her response. Megan found it novel, though not overly curious. She stood there for another ten minutes before continuing to explore the house, cautiously testing every place she could reach, leaving Bob behind—

Bob watched her 'exploration.' The child turned a deaf ear to his words, but she exhibited more autonomous behavior. Even though he couldn't truly understand it, his order was to take care of Megan and respect her wishes.

He had asked Megan if she wanted dinner earlier, but it was already late at night. The child looked full of energy. He really couldn't confirm if she had eaten or if she wanted a late-night snack, so he closed the door, engaged the lock to prevent her from opening it, and went to the kitchen to prepare a meal.

In any case, making something to eat wouldn't be wrong.

While he was busy in the kitchen, Megan wandered everywhere. After looking over the first floor, she looked up at the second. She stepped onto the stairs, placing her hand on the banister. It was wooden and old, with peeling paint and decay in some places, leaving uneven holes, though it was frequently wiped down and had no splinters.

Megan subconsciously touched it. The banister was actually a bit high for her, but she was curious. Maintaining an awkward posture, she walked up the stairs slowly. Seeing a rug at the top of the stairs, she seemed to remember something. She looked down through the banister and saw a similar rug at the main entrance on the first floor.

This kind of cognition—the thinking process of connecting one thing to another—was entirely new to her. Her eyes widened slightly.

Finally, when Bob walked out of the kitchen with a salad, mashed potatoes, and fried bacon, he saw her sitting on the rug at the entrance of the first floor, holding a leaf in her hand, turning her head from time to time to look at the front door.

Bob crouched down and asked humbly, "Megan, do you want to eat something?"

Her eyes looked a bit sleepy, but she still opened her crystal-clear green eyes to look at him. She didn't nod or shake her head. After checking the door again and seeing no movement, she crawled up and continued to wander around. Bob followed behind her, asking questions, but was completely ignored.

Finally, he asked, "Are you going to sleep, then?"

Megan looked at him again, silent. But Bob roughly understood her meaning. She probably wanted to sleep, but the tactless servant here liked to act on his own and ask endless questions. He should have realized sooner that a child needs more sleep, and even if the young lady didn't speak, he should have considered this and made arrangements.

Bob led her past the dining table. Seeing the food he had prepared sitting there, he sighed quietly. He had made a work error! Megan couldn't express her needs and wishes, but he suddenly wondered: why was she sitting at the door and looking at it from time to time?

Was she waiting for someone to pick her up?