Von Karma knew him through and through. A man who was privy to such was veraciously unique, despite Gant's apparent openness with the world. In truth he was as guarded as an armored tank inside a canon-proof vault. The workings of his mind were heavily classified and protected with deadly force. Under the guise of a magnanimous humanitarian he sought the aid of no one but himself. His former colleague had always understood that, and it was the mutual understanding that gained Gant's surprisingly limited respect.

I came to serve and protect, but whoever will serve me? It's my turn, it's only fair.

I've the wits to be judge, jury, and executioner. Things would prosper under me, the scum should have been grateful. In my world if I prosper, you prosper.

But that's the degenerative world we live in. They hate progress. So in turn they hate me.

Gant saw that old flare of Von Karma's light up between them. He knew how good it could be. He gave his cross-tie a little adjustment, as eyes of jealous malachite half-lidded under his scheming thoughts.

"I'll be your investigative strong-arm. Don't think I don't know what sort of morons they filled the local precinct. They even hired that backwater hick of a scum-bag. Knowing their ilk, they'll screw up an investigation just to watch you fall again."

There he extended his hand, thick retractiles curling to beckon him forth like the Devil making an offer that shant be refused.

"You can trust me, Manfred. After all...

They think I'm tame now."