Hearing the Joker call out to him, he peered through the bars at the man.  Seeing that clown's face always made him recoil, not in fear, but in disgust.  The man was through and through a lunatic, and if anyone deserved to be in this dank rotting pit of insanity, it was the Joker.  He wasn't a learned man like Crane was.  Where the Scarecrow used his mind to terrify his prey, the Joker simply maimed and murdered of his own accord, without pausing to scheme or plot, and focus on an overall plan.<br/><br/>"What do you want, you lunatic?" he hissed, narrowing his eyes to slits as he stared at the eerily white face from down the hall.  "I've not the time for your ridiculous antics."  Reaching down, he ran his finger along the waist-line of his orange Arkham Asylum inmate uniform.  Hidden there, meticulously sewn into the fabric, was a small vial of his fear toxin, his most potent batch yet.  It was a small amount, but it would suffice to cause a distraction, and could possibly help him reach freedom.