Stuck for hours in an overly-stuffed chair in, yet another, board meeting, Chen Zhen subconsciously engaged in the simultaneous, yet contradictory, actions of tensing his legs, and rubbing the fused portion of his wrist. Edging ever closer to his sixtieth birthday, Chen found himself more and more haunted by the spectre of youth; be it in the business world or in his own reflected face. As a young man, Chen's world ended at the city limits of Shanghai, it was his birthplace, his patch and his charge, handed down from his father. For generations, his family had protected Shanghai through their influence, business and through the identity of the Masked Warrior, a dynastic vigilante persona who had stood against corruption and violence in the streets since the 1930s. Chen had given much of his twenties, thirties and even a hefty proportion of his forties over to the duty of protecting the city. Finally, age and injury had forced Chen to retire the Masked Warrior until his son was ready to take on the role.
On the eve of Chen's fiftieth birthday, a major dip in share price due to a weak US market caused him to work late, not a big deal as the exclusive steak restaurant his son demanded that they go to would hold the table until they arrived, but it did mean that the family town-car was idling outside corporate headquarters for longer than expected. Chen exited his building into the autumn rain, prepared for the good-natured chiding his wife and son would give him, finding instead a gang of youths tearing through his car, taking anything of value they could lay their hands on, down to tearing out the walnut panels from the doors. Leaping into action with no care for his secret identity, Chen battered the youths with a lifetime of martial skill and experience, driving most away and rendering several unconscious. Too late, Chen discovered that his wife and child had already borne the brunt of the attack, his wife throttled during the act of her necklace being stolen and his son with a split head on the curb.
Chen would only remember the remainder of that night in fragments of blood and bone, but his wealth and a team of lawyers kept any legal repercussions at bay whilst he found his way far enough out of his grief for the rage to clear. The scum that attacked his family were starving street kids, all underage and desperate for any food or money they could find. Those that survived his initial wrath avoided any serious gaol time due to their youth and circumstances, leaving Chen with a blazing desire for revenge. Throwing himself into his Masked Warrior identity, Chen began a crackdown on street crime in Shanghai like hadn't been seen since the days of the revolution. Orgainsed crime was running scared for months before a plan was hatched to bring the Masked Warrior down permanently. Lured into an ambush, Chen barely escaped with his life, but was too badly injured to continue on in his vigilante identity. Years past and things calmed down, but it seemed that the days of the Masked Warrior were done.
Melancholic and weary, Chen retired to his private office to reflect and enjoy a quiet drink before calling the car to take him home. The evening skyline of Shanghai always had a calming effect on Chen, and when combined with $500 whiskey, it could numb the pain of regret and years. Tonight, however, Chen was not destined to find respite, instead, a rising plume of black smoke broke the skyline and any reverie that may have been due faded quickly into cold reality. Several large screens in Chen's office constantly steamed the local and international Markets, but a secret switch in a draw would flip to news networks and police scanners, a remnant from the days of the Masked Warrior. The major networks were already carrying reports of a fire burning at the Baoshan Campus of Shanghai University, started when a student-led protest turned violent. People were hurt, students and police, and footage of black-masked, anti-government protesters throwing Molotov cocktails at police and into buildings made Chen's blood boil.
Scarcely aware of his actions and blinded by visions of trouble-making youths assaulting his family, Chen found himself pulling on the spare Masked Warrior costume he had habitually kept in his office, even all these years later. The costume was tight in places, and the leather gloves cracked and flaking from age, but once the mask and hat were on, Chen felt the weight of years lifted; The Masked Warrior had returned, and trouble-makers should beware.
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