MASKED: Rise of the New Generation [Book One ReUploaded]

Another long week, that's all it had been. Giovanni had been busy working on his project for the Crawford siblings and he was close to finishing. Myla had been extra busy with her charities, which meant she was gone for long hours every day. Tate was healing, Tana was trying to find a work-vigilante-family life balance, and Isaiah was watching both of their progresses. It gave Isaiah something to focus on whenever he finished up each lesson in the dojo. Even though he was supposed to be retired, he still struggled being totally alone at times.

It was a day just like any other. Gio had been coming and going all day, Myla had gotten up and kissed him goodbye, and Isaiah was left completely alone right as the sun finally began to dip behind the horizon. Myla would return later in the night and Gio needed to stay in his own home for a night. He tried relaxing, first. Lighting some candles, brewing some tea, and huddling up with a book. When that didn't work, he tried watching sports. Anything he could find as he channel surfed. Nothing held his attention for long, making his eyes want to cross and his palms feel sweaty. He was itching for something to do. Wanting almost desperately for a student to call him and ask for a lesson or Gio to come bursting through the door with a new idea.

Instead, Isaiah found himself standing by a window and watching as the city life dwindled down for a Tuesday night. There would always be someone wandering the streets in a city that never sleeps, but it did often dip at certain times. He would sometimes let his mind drift away and think about what random people's lives may be like. Which was precisely what he was doing as he sipped his tea. He had every intention of finishing it before finding something else to do, too. Still too tightly wound, even after so many years as a civilian. Though it may have been a good thing that his senses were still as keen as they were.

All it took was a creak of the old, wooden floorboards behind him. So faint that most people probably wouldn't have heard it with the television still on in the background. Isaiah, however, heard it and remained facing forward. Watching as buildings and streets lit up as it grew darker outside. Even though he chose to stay in the old brownstone building, in what was considered a rougher neighborhood, he still admired the newer buildings of New Elysium. Perhaps because they were all sprouting up thanks to his wife and all of her efforts. Without her, the city wouldn't even exist to begin with. With her, it was a gleaming pillar that continued to grow and shine.

"If you're here for a fight then I must warn you, my wife would kill us both for breaking anything in this loft." At the sound of Isaiah's voice the person completely halted their steps. They were still a decent distance from him, and staying out of the reflection in the window.

"And I'd expect nothing less from that fierce lady." The voice jarred Isaiah. He paused the tea cup at his lips. Taking a moment before he took his final sip and turned around. Face to face with the last man he expected to see. "Good to see you again, old friend. How's life been treating you?"

There stood Walter Crawford in the middle of Isaiah's living room. Shit-eating smirk, eyebrow quirked up, and arms outstretched. He was wearing a dressy suit, similar to the same one he had on the last time Isaiah laid his eyes on him in person. It looked both cheap and expensive at the same time — a certain quality that only Walter could pull off. The man hadn't aged much in three years, but the same couldn't be said about Isaiah. He'd grayed immensely in just a couple of years, put on a few extra pounds, and truthfully couldn't see well without glasses or contacts anymore. He had been feeling his age a touch extra in recent months. He suspected that was what happened as someone inched ever closer to the age of fifty. Yet his wife, whom he had been with for over a decade and hadn't aged a day in almost a hundred years, would argue that point with him.

There was a mix of emotions that flashed across the older man's face. He truly didn't know how to feel or react to his old friend standing before him. On one hand it was a bold move to show himself after everything, but on the other it could have been a ploy. There wasn't any chance that this was Walter coming to turn himself in. Would he give up all of his plans and beg for forgiveness? No, that had never been Walter's style. It became more obvious as he slowly sat down in one of the arm chairs near the coffee table that this wasn't actually a social visit.