Master Eemos had always been a calm man. A stoic man. He had taken all the challenges and grief life had given him and accepted it with a mixture of detachment and strength. There weren’t many things that could unnerve a man living on his own anti-gravity plate the size of a small apartment block, high above the surface of Dubai. His inventions had made him rich enough to buy the world. But Master Eemos didn’t want the world. For despite the fact that he had two servants who catered to his every whim, a mistress whose beauty could melt most men on the spot, Master Eemos wasn’t happy. There was something vexing his waking moments and absorbing his thoughts of late to the point of madness.

He paced around his workshop on the second floor of his villa. Gold shined through a wide spaced window, inviting him to take a look outside. But outside was the last place Master Eemos wished to look, dared to look. He knew he was out there. The man in black. The man no one else could see but him.

He searched his mind to find something with which to occupy his thoughts, but found only his shaking knees at the thought of looking at the shape again.

This day, sleep had eluded him. He had spent the night wandering his house, lost in contemplation. When dawn came, he had been awarded some clarity, his mind enjoying a bit of sought-after focus. But as soon as the elusive thing had come, Master Eemos became weak again, disoriented.

His age was great. He had lived nearly two lifetimes and would live another should time be good to him.

He stood looking at the window. For a moment his room felt alien to him, each of his works in progress in his shop alien to him, unfamiliar and distant in his vision. They were all a blur, like a city on a distant shore.

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