The fallen form of Doctor Zachary Knell - the Leviathan King - rasped heavily, obviously straining for any oxygen he could get.
"Lousssy Curie..." he moaned, stumblng weakly to his feet and limping to his desk. "Shot me in the back. I'll sssee hisss head on a sssspike before I die..."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Wha...?" Knell says, looking up feebly.
"I can help you get the revnge you seek. On Cicciotto, his pathetic little 'gang', on Curie, and even Walker, if you'd like."
"Wh-Who are you?" Knell rasped, slumping down, beginning to lose consciousness finally.
"An interested party. Nothing more. I can even heal your wound, if you so desire. However, it will require your total allegiance and resources sworn over to me... a 'selling your soul' type of deal, as it were."
"And if I refusssse?"
"Then I leave you here to die. It's just that simple. The choice, however, is ultimately yours."
The man extended his hand toward the reptilian scientist. Knell looked warily from the outstretched hand to the man's face, contemplating motive. Finally, as the chill of death began to creep through his body, Knell reached forward, grasping the comparitively smaller hand of the man before him.
"Very good, Doctor!" the man delightedly said, turning to the shadows behind him. "Mr. Ktl... Frederico... whatever your name is, please come forward and treat the good doctor."
One of the last images Knell saw before he blacked out was the figure of a muscular Cuban in a running outfit coming toward him - his eyes glowing with black energy...
