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Cottle is preparing to do an autopsy on Fisk.
Dr. Cottle: Admiral, Colonel, I'm just getting started, but from the looks of him, I'd say he was garroted.
Col. Tigh: Gods. This is the last thing we needed.
Cottle: Admiral, you might want to take a look at this. Looks like our friend, Fisk, hit the jackpot.
Cottle pulls a cubit out of Fisk's throat.
Tigh: Cubit?
--Black Market