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The Skeleton sat on the edge of the single bed, his expression dazed.
He had just awoken from a dream, and for a moment he had thought he was still at the headquarters of the Wing of Death, and that any minute his subordinates would come knocking on his door to report to him. It wasn't until the knocking sound actually began that a young man, cool to the point of being indifferent, stood at the door, holding two cups of coffee.
"Shiyu Zhongyi," the Skeleton rasped.
"Good evening, John Garcia," Zhongyi handed him a cup of coffee, standing erect like a javelin, "Are you still pondering over that dream?"
A few days ago, John had a dream. In the dream, a strangely dressed boy chatted with him, his face showing an expression that was both sympathetic and cruel.
"These years have been hard on you, because of the power I gave you."
The Skeleton was initially surprised, then angry.
Why did you give me this power? Why did you choose me?
