In the early morning, the bus station in Albany was quiet. Extremely so. Nothing broke the stillness and the calm except for the squeak of the wheels of a suitcase. With the little suitcase dragging behind, the first person to approach the bus depot looked a touch bedraggled.

Tom had had to go home before he could come back to the Training Temple, but the timing worked out. He got back to Albany the same day that his present had been cashed in. A first-class plane ticket, Wyoming to New York.

“Tom! Hey, Tom!”, Eugene cried out as he came shufflejogging up the sidewalk. A duffel bag over his shoulder, a backpack on his back, a suitcase in each hand. Every available slot had to be full and every stackable item must have been maxed out. Tom glanced up to Eugene, an eyebrow arched at all the loot.

“Welcome to New York.”, Tom rasped. He didn’t exactly seem his typical on-screen happygolucky self. In fact, he just looked tired. Worn down. His face was a little grayer. And his neck was still sore and stiff from the most recently of the three Untouchadrivers he had taken.

“Thanks for buying me that ticket, man!”, Eugene gushed with a grin. “I thought I was gonna have to put off buying Far Cry 3, but then... Dood!”

Tom shrugged helplessly. “Even with Jeff in charge, sales of my teeshirts, Wrestling Pals and DVDs still do well. He’s even giving me the same rate that Dane was giving me. Betcha he’ll threaten to take that away.” And then, Tom’d lawyer up, because his image and all of his ideas had been property of him. All the deals to sell things through DEFIANCE had been written with Eric Dane personally overseeing them. “It was a gift. I can’t fight the Good Fight alone. I needed some backup. And it’s nice having someone who actually wants to be here.”

"Yeah, well, I couldn't exactly turn you down when you came to me could I?" Eugene said humbly, "But what chance have I got of standing against The Untouchables if I can't even beat Dragon Jones?"

“Well that's why we're here." Tom said slapping Eugene on the shoulder, "We’ll get you in shape enough to fight anyone. And more than that, we’ll get you confidence. We’ll get you some good endorphins thundering through that brainpan. We’ll get you the fighting skill you need to use your natural talents the way they should be used.”

“Right now, you are simply a steel proof,” rasped a voice behind them. The accent was distinctly noticeable, but dulled through years of American presence. “A sword without an edge.”

Eugene and Tom whirled around. As if he had appeared there through magic, the man standing behind them had made no sound whatsoever as he had approached. The man held a cigarette between his lips, and shortly cropped black hair had grown over the top of his formerly bald head. His distinctive Van Dyke moustache-and-goatee was still the same as it once was, and those clear blue eyes, piercing and hawkish had not dulled with age.

Taking a long drag on the thing, Sergei Bogorovich conscientiously exhaled a cloud of smoke away from the two. It was a Russian thing. He’d upgraded to an e-cigarette, at least. “And, at my Training Temple, we will hammer an edge out. We will sharpen that edge. And you will become a blade... One fit for a king.”

Sergei glanced over Eugene’s form. “Adam spoke of your raw talent. He seemed convinced you would let it go to waste, never set foot in a gym and while away your time playing video games rather than making money in the ring. I hoped otherwise.” Sergei stuffed the e-cigarette back between his lips, letting it dangle. It was an oral fixation at this point.

“Eugene, don’t be scared of him.” Easier said than done, Serbo looked like the kind of man who beat up nerds for fun. However, with Sergei’s harsh Russian background, the man hadn’t even met a nerd before coming to the US. And, as nerds posed no threat. Why fight one? “He’s a good guy, a fantastic trainer, and if nothing else puts you at ease, he’s a hardcore Buddhist. He’s the instructor in yoga, tai chi, judo and meditation at the Training Temple.” Among other things... But those were the biggies.

“It is nice to meet you, Eugene. Anyone who accepts the offer to train at my dojo has taken the first step to self mastery,” Sergei said, extending a hand to Eugene.

“I’ll warn you now, I’m pretty skilled in ‘self mast-’” Eugene said before being cut short by a sharp elbow to the ribs. He looked to Tom, the owner of said elbow, as if to say ‘Dude, the hell?’, but Tom didn’t return the stare. Instead he shook his head ever so slightly, just enough to warn Eugene to brace for what was about to come.

“You would do well not to mistake my good nature for a soft touch.” Sergei said, giving Eugene a stern look, “Thomas’ words, while most flattering, will only prove true should I receive the respect and hard work that I have been promised.”

Eugene swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and nodded. He wished he could have just said ‘Hello, nice to meet you.’ But his mind hadn’t allowed him that extra second necessary to come up with that gem. “I... I do intend to work hard, Sir.” he stammered, “Harder than I’ve ever worked before, I swear.”

That couldn’t be hard.

“Good.” Sergei nodded, “No man finds his warrior-self without hard work and sacrifice. And if what I have heard is true, DEFIANCE will need true heroes to stand up to the darkness.”

“Oh, it’s true, Serbo.” Tom said evenly, a lump in his throat. “I just hope that we’ll be enough.”

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