With the help of the pale white liquid, Kilgrave, who was on the brink of death, slowly started to breathe more deeply.
A minute later, he struggled to open his eyes. "Where… is this? What happened just now?"
Luke turned on his external microphone and said in the same English accent, "Good evening, Mr. Zebediah Kilgrave. Congratulations on winning the grand prize of a one-way ticket to hell. You'll see wonderful sights along the way. In order to make your journey more enjoyable, I've also helped treat your minor wounds. You don't have to thank me. I'm just happy to help."
Kilgrave subconsciously moved, only to discover that he was tied to the desk like a salted fish.
Also, the desk was at an angle so that his feet were higher than his head.
He couldn't move his head either, and could only look at his body.
His arms and legs were twisted at strange angles, and didn't look like they had been treated at all.
