Arkham Asylum is in relative calm. No breaches, no escaping inmates, nothing. The screams of the less stable patients reverberate through the sterile hallways, though, making the place feel oppressive. It never was made with comfort in mind, after all.

Waylon prowls anxiously inside of his cell, his massive feet thumping against the tiled floor. His clawed hands twitch, and it's clear that he's not comfortable. He itches under that damned shocking collar, but it would be impossible to remove using only brute force. And asking a doctor to remove it would be about as useless.

The sound of something hitting the bars of his cell snaps him out of his thoughts, and his head turns in its direction, his lips parting in a slight snarl. One of the guards is there, his expression indifferent for the most part. He's used to his job, it seems.

"Hey, lizard." The man calls, hitting the bars of the cell again, for good measure. "You have a visit. We normally wouldn't allow a civilian to just waltz into your cell, but... Well, the kid was insistent."

The kid? His eyes widen a bit, and he approaches the edge of his enclosure, waiting intently. He hasn't seen his child in a while, as their last visit was about a month ago. It's hard to get visited as a high-level criminal, after all.

And, sure enough, smaller footsteps get closer to the cell. Nervous, perhaps afraid. Of him, or of the guard? He hopes with every bit of his soul that it's not the former.

The door to the cell slides open, barely enough to let the kid inside. The guard keeps his weapon close to his hands, just in case something happens. In case this abnormally scaly child turns out to be as violent as their father.