Mayhem swallowed. "Curare," he said.
"Curare! A poison!"
"Paralysis," said Mayhem quickly. "Muscular paralysis. You die because you stop breathing. Painless ... and...."
"But—"
"Call your technicians ... new body ... ready...." Gasping, the Sirian gentleman, hardly Johnny Mayhem now, fell to the floor.
Trembling, Kovandaswamy pressed a button on his desk. A few moments later, two white-coated technicians entered the office.
"Project M," Kovandaswamy said.
Grimly the technicians went to work.
Mayhem awoke.