"You know, that's a good point..." Joker's brows rise, thoughtful, and he taps the tip of an index finger against his chin as he considers why it is that old Bob is now worth remembering.

It wasn't as if it was a particularly memorable death. Just another idiot henchman going through a windshield because he thought bad guys didn't need to buckle up. It's staggering, really, how many men Joker has lost that way over the years. You'd think they'd learn, collectively speaking, and yet. No, it can't be that.

Nor does he recall the actual names of all his dead clowns. Not even all the ones from the past year, or even all those from the past year who had embarrassingly simple names. So why Bob?

Stranger still, he has no problem remembering every insignificant detail about the endless string of orderlies and officers he's encountered over the years. So why, exactly...

Ah, but that train of thought will have to wait. This stranger to whom he's just spilled some nonsensical beans apparently wants a nickname, too.

Joker looks at him and immediately thinks, Skipper. Skip, for short. But no, no. Let's not be hasty.

"Well, that depends, kid. Are you actually on payroll, in this little hypothetical? Or are you just, say, one of the hostages?"