Ethan stepped into his bedroom, pulling out the chair at his desk and slumping heavily into it.
He leaned his head back, staring up at the plain ceiling. I need to train... I really need to get stronger, he thought, his mind involuntarily drifting back to the past.
He woke up lying on a cold, makeshift bed, on the ground. Blinking away the haze, he looked up to see a silhouette standing near the window—a man with long, dark hair, his back turned toward Ethan.
The man held a tactical military rifle casually in his grip.
Ethan glanced around the floor, his eyes landing on a silver metallic badge resting near the edge of the bed.
Engraved sharply into the surface were two words: Terminator Mercenary.
Ethan snapped back to the present, letting out a long, weary sigh.
I seriously need to train. Back then, we had an entire armory and heavy weapons at our disposal... Ethan thought, standing up and walking over to his balcony. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the peaceful night sky.
"Who should I even ask? Is there anyone around who can actually train me...?" Ethan murmured to himself.
Suddenly, a face popped into his head. Beast.
Well, I could ask Uncle Beast... but he'd definitely charge me a ridiculous fee, easily a million at minimum. Yeah, Uncle Beast is a hard no. Ethan scratched his head, pondering. Who else is there...?
Then, Benson came to mind.
Benson... I could ask Madison about his background. But after running face-first into a wall in front of her yesterday, I can't even bring myself to look her in the eye. Guess I'll just have to call Benson directly.
Ethan walked back inside, opening his desk drawer to pull out the MMA Gym business card he had saved. He stared at the printed phone number for a second, sighed, and dialed it.
The call connected almost instantly.
"Hello! Thank you for calling the MMA Gym! How can we help you today, sir? Are you interested in joining our elite martial arts classes or looking for a personal trainer—"
Ethan rubbed his temples. Does this guy ever stop talking to breathe?
Benson paused for half a second to take a breath. Ethan seized the opening and opened his mouth to speak, but Benson beat him to the punch again.
"Sir? Are you still there, sir? Why aren't you replying? You can ask about our special membership packages—"
"Dude, I'm literally going to fall asleep," Ethan deadpanned into the receiver.
The line went dead silent for a second. "Ethan?"
"Yeah. It's me."
"Why didn't you say anything from the start?!" Benson yelled back through the phone.
"Because you wouldn't let me get a single word in!"
"Don't lie to me, man! You could've spoken up just like you did right now!" Benson shot back smoothly before clearing his throat. "Anyway, what's up? Want to know more about the gym?"
"Yeah. I wanted to ask about your MMA Gym," Ethan replied.
"Well, it's a pretty standard setup, but we've got great equipment. Whenever you're free, drop by and I'll give you a full tour," Benson offered cheerfully.
"Should I come tomorrow morning?" Ethan asked.
"Nah, drop by in the evening," Benson said, a sly smirk forming on his face.
"Why the evening?"
"You'll see when you get here," Benson chuckled knowingly.
Ethan agreed to the time, hung up the phone, and finally crashed onto his bed for the night.
Meanwhile, Benson was sitting behind the wheel of his parked car. He dialed a number on his phone, resting it against his ear as it rang.
"Hello?" Madison's voice answered.
"Hey, Madison! Sorry to disturb you," Benson said warmly.
"Oh, it's no problem at all, Uncle Benson," she replied smoothly.
"Listen, a very special guest is coming by the gym tomorrow evening. And it happens to be someone you know quite well."
"Someone I know?" Madison asked, her interest piqued.
"Yup! Could you do me a favor and give him a tour of the gym when he arrives?"
"Sure thing, Uncle!"
"Thanks a lot, kiddo. Come early to the gym." Benson said with a grin before hanging up.
He leaned back in his seat, looking at his phone with a proud smirk. Don't you worry, Ethan. I'm going to be the ultimate wingman for you.
Benson's eyes drifted over to the empty passenger seat beside him, his gaze softening as a memory from years ago resurfaced...
Damian sat in that very same passenger seat, raising an eyebrow with an amused smirk.
"Are you seriously challenging me to a sprint race?" Damian asked.
A younger Benson nodded passionately. "You bet I am! You're the best guy I know, Damian. If I beat you in a race, that means I'm the best!"
Damian burst into a hearty laugh. "I'm far from the best, Benson. All of you guys are." He reached over, clapping a firm, encouraging hand onto Benson's shoulder. "But... I'm definitely not backing down from a challenge!"
Both of them laughed together as the engine revved into the night...
Back in the present day...
Inside the high-end estate of Loop, John Levi stepped into his private quarters. His right-hand man stood by the entrance, bowing respectfully as he closed the heavy doors. "Please rest well, sir."
The lieutenant turned and began walking down the dimly lit hallway toward his own room when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out, and the moment his eyes registered the caller ID, an icy wave of sheer terror washed over him. He began to visibly tremble, swallowing hard as he forced his shaking finger to swipe the screen.
"S-Sir... Mister..." he stammered out, his voice betraying his absolute dread.
The voice on the other end was cold, dark, and utterly devoid of warmth. "I have landed back in Russia."
"Y-Yes, sir!" the lieutenant stuttered. Several bodyguards passing by in the corridor stopped to stare, shocked to see their usually ruthless superior shaking like a leaf.
"Sir... how was your experience in Canada?" the lieutenant asked nervously, sweat pouring down his neck.
A cold silence hung over the line before the voice demanded an update.
"Sir! The information you are searching for is located at Loop's first branch!" the man reported frantically. He swallowed hard, nervously shaking his head.
"N-No, Sir... as you already know... Loop's second branch is currently operating under the cover of a..."