They couldn't believe their eyes. He had left with Greg looking like any ordinary man, but now he was different. Transformed.
He no longer wore his glasses. In their place were sleek, blue-colored eye-lays that glowed faintly under the stadium lights. His black suit shimmered like liquid shadow, matching the style of the Grid Lions' elite. Across his chest were golden cords, braided and looped with intricate precision. Like his uncle, he wore golden knuckles—three chains extending from them, connecting to his suit's lapel with a metallic gleam. His hair was perfectly groomed, bright and lustrous, evidence of the priceless oils and powders used on it.
