We see Robbie Bourbon walk into the gym, wearing some cheap work-out gear. Shorts, a plain white tee, and of course, his mask snugly gracing his skull. He sees Emerick and Chernikov, then looks at the body of the bully laying on the ground, then back at both the men.

So, what's this training, beating on gym rats? Yeesh, I left the dojo to check this out and you guys are just laying out ham and eggers.

Bourbon smiles as starts to nod his head 'no'.

Mike, good to see you again. I will freely say that I would go to war with you as an ally again. Mr. Chernikov, nice to meet you. May I assume that the unconscious fellow with blood pouring out of his face isn't here to train with us?

Robbie then sits on the floor, crosses his legs, and closes his eyes.

I'll be honest, I'm more used to working out at the dojo and smelling what the culinary students are working on; keeps you hungry, no? Also, if you're wondering about the mask, if I recall correctly you were, I wear it for two reasons. First, my goofy mug isn't going to sell shirts, so covering it up is just sound business. Second, my mask is a far stronger symbol than my face, and if anyone wants to identify with Robbie Bourbon, they can just slap one on. Who knows, if it helps some kids with a healthy dose of mind over matter, then hey, I'll pat myself on the back.

Robbie stretches his arms out and arches his back, creating loud snaps and cracks as he limbers up.

So, what's on the agenda Mr. Chernikov?

Robbie begins to breathe deeply, though with a cadence, his eyes still shut while sitting on the floor.