Marcus, now the Queen Leech, sits on a large chair in the center of a ruined laboratory situated deep below the Spencer Chateau. The room is lined to the ceiling with various chemicals and biological components scattered around in a chaotic manner, clearly showing signs of a hasty evacuation. Marcus stares out into the darkness, almost as if observing the very fabric of time.

The Queen Leech stirs slowly, the cluster of writhing leeches that form his new flesh undulating like a dark tide beneath his human facade, surrounded by cracked glass and twisted metal. A low, guttural hum vibrates through the chamber — part human voice, part chittering swarm. He turns his head slightly, too slowly. One pale eye catching the faint glow of ruptured fluorescent tubes flickering overhead.

— I did not expect visitors. Not anymore. Not since they silenced me… twice.

A chittering sound slithers up from the amalgamation hiding within the figure of Dr. Marcus in his younger times. He would look much older according fo his age. But then again, it is not actually him. Merely believes it is.

Papers stir as if brushed by unseen breath. He lifts a hand, or what pretends to be one, distorted by veined appendages pulsing in slow rhythm with something hidden below the faux skin. The leeches that compose his true form, beyond imitated pigments.*

— You stand before James Marcus, visionary betrayed, corpse defiled, reborn through my beloved children. Tell me…

His voice drops to a whisper threaded with venomous glee:

— Are you afraid? Or are you… intrigued?