Night, deathly still.
A certain basement.
Skeleton, clad in a black robe, stood in front of more than thirty Men in Black, his eerie green gaze sweeping over them.
Most of these Men in Black were expressionless, seemingly zombie-like.
Suddenly, Skeleton slammed his palm violently into the chest of one of the Men in Black, sending him flying four meters away with the force of the attack.
Ordinary people would be either dead or injured from such a blow, yet the Man in Black quickly rose to his feet without any sign of distress.
Astonished, Angel watched from the side.
These warriors were like war machines, oblivious to pain; it was a mystery how the organization had managed to train them.
Skeleton nodded, seemingly satisfied, and then turned to leave.
Angel followed him, walking out of the basement.
At that moment, the telephone began to ring.
Skeleton answered the call, listened to the report from the other end, and said, "I know," then hung up the phone.
