Here I am with Bryan's backstory. I planned to do Bryan, Spencer and Ian all in one chapter, but that won't do them justice.

Wright was asleep, half lying on the crates of flies he had seated himself on. His hand whose wrist was resting on his forehead held Tala's Photograph, and the other hand's fingers loosely gripped a drawer's handle, but the red marks on his finger's suggested he had gripped it very tightly at some point. A slight breeze eased him of sweat, and he woke up unnaturally calmly, running his hand through his white hair, which resembled the ones of a well-groomed man.

It's been days since he had lived through a story as interesting as this Boy's "Talantalivyy Yuri Ivanov". As pretentious the name was, he couldn't help liking it. That boy- never had he wanted to help someone so much. If it wasn't for the magical abbey medical technology, Tala could have died ten times over. It made sense why he chose to wear full sleeves even in the hottest weather. Thanks to Boris his arms and back were a mess, and though a craftily done plastic surgery could take care of his back, for the time being, Tala had already got over five for his arms, and they had really short lives if he needed to retain the strength and flexibility of his arms. He could go about thinking about him for long, but he wanted to know more. Abbey was sure an interesting place.

It was midnight. He knew which person he was going to see next- Bryan Kuznetsov. The person he could declare second closest to Yuri Ivanov. He could have been the first, but for some reason, a few people always seem to lose to others. He moved around the files a little, and there was the file- with Bryan Kuznetsov written in bold Russian letters. Flipping through the academic and Athletic records he found Bryan's photograph. He hadn't changed much, except for the clothing that seemed to be much more appropriate for cold weather. Without much delay, he was outside a tavern. He knew it was a cheap one even before opened his eyes- thanks to that pungent smell of the evergreen Russian exiler of life, more fondly known as Vodka. Most likely he was supposed to go inside. Inside was the depressing scene one sees in such shady places. On the counter was a teenager in a tattered dress with a little boy by her side. Wright turned himself invisible once again, thanking whatever god might be listening, that no one saw him. He went closer to the counter to hear the little conversation the bartender was having with the woman.

"Do you have some of it?"

"Some of what, Madam?" asked the little rouge with an evil, charismatic grin.

"You know what I come for here" she answered, getting impatient. Why wasn't this jerk a much older hag who minded his business more?

"Oh, my lady that's a weird way of asking for my hand in marriage" that handsome face looked charmingly at the young woman hardly seventeen years of age.

"Norman!" Ms Kuznetsov scowled but then decided to act a bit more appropriately for a mother of a three-year-old.

"See, your Majesty, my parents kicked me out three years ago before he was born, and I sincerely don't want yours to do so, so better give me that packet you have been hiding in your fist behind the back" And in a split second, she leaned over the counter and snatched the little packet from his hands. Only if this boy was never born. She could have done anything.

Outside, she wandered about with the little boy who was just enough awake that his feet followed whichever direction his mother led him. He was hungry but asking for food any number of times usually went unanswered until they were seated at some place, which could be anything from a playground to a tree.

She sat down on a park bench, and as soon as the little boy Bryan mumbled, "Food Mama.." She drew him closer and said," Just a minute. Open your mouth"

Bryan opened his tiny mouth and in went a dose of a sugary, calming substance.

In moments Bryan was asleep and his mother, herself still a child, wanted to do the same, but she took him up in her arms and securely laid her in a corner of the giant dome-line playhouse, and went out looking for some job. She would take a much, much higher dose of that substance when she returned.

He will be most likely asleep for much of the next day, giving her ample time to do some work and get some money, which was often was lower than the minimum wage for someone below the poverty line. Good old days were when Communism reigned. If this had been just a few decades back, she might have got through with an easier life. But there was this useless son she had to bring up. It had occurred to her three years ago that it might be better if she aborted the baby, or left him somewhere after he was born. But why the heck it was that babies looked so cute and innocent. She tried but couldn't throw him away. It was her son. The proof she existed.

It's been a few months and things had changed drastically. Miss Kuznetsov's efforts to act wisely were long down the drain and was certainly mistreating the little son. She wasn't getting any jobs and thus there had been an extreme dearth of the sugary substance and that has driven Bryan restless and Miss Kuznetsov very, very mad. She would go about gasping for breath and pushing away little Bryan as he cried for food. Bryan was usually calm, but he was exceptionally restless today. He didn't know why but it made much more sense to throw a tantrum even in his deprived state.

And Kuznetsov's head throbbing. Day in, day out and this condition got worse. Bryan had fainted and she went around the city with the boy in her arm, looking dishevelled, and crazily asking people for money, or that substance she called "Morphine", offering anything in exchange.

A certain man noticed the crazy girl, and being much interested, he asked her what the fuss was all about.

"Oh Mister, Please give me that" She was gasping, jumbling her words, "Please.. I'll die"

Boris was listening so she continued," You.. you can take anything of mine" She glanced at herself and began naming her few possessions, which included herself as well.

Boris smirked and asked," Is your son up for exchange too?"

"Oh no no sir! This young boy's mine. Not up for exchange." and she went forward looking for negotiations.

A few days passed and Boris daily came for looking at the young lady, who by now was a terrible mess. Miss Kuznetsov could no longer stand on her two feet,

starving and mumbling she lay on the pavement underneath a tree, holding tight to the little boy in her arms, which many suspected was already dead.

Boris bent down to her, and she immediately recognised his face, bursting into, "Oh sir, here's my boy you wanted.." And she fainted at his feet.

Wright followed Boris to the abbey. He had brought both Miss Kuznetsov and Bryan. Though Bryan recovered, Miss Kuznetsov didn't and was never to. She survived about a month, and in the little time she was conscious, she told Bryan to fully trust 'Sir Balkov'. Boris had won her trust well. There were many children at the abbey, all singing his praises. And he had a daughter too- Katrina Balkov. A rather silent child she was. But life had been unfaithful to Sir Balkov. His wife ran away leaving the daughter with him. Such a caring man he was. There was no better person she could entrust her son to. Her son, who'd live on as the proof she lived. The proof she wasn't a bad mother.

Done! After that, Boris brought up Bryan. Since Bryan considered him a parent as much as he did his mom, even more than that. So, you can see Bryan developed a much different relationship with Boris. Bryan was much more willing to be the subject of Boris's experiments. He was a child who desperately wanted to please his parent, and later when Boris had many more kids to attend and train, many of whom he favoured more like Tala and Kai, Bryan pushed himself far more than he should have, both physically and morally. He spent his time at abbey trying to please Boris, but never quite met the bar. Now and then Boris would notice his efforts, and little words of praise were far more encouraging to him than punishments, so as a mark of affection, Boris would apparently sometimes spare him some punishment. And even when he was punished, Bryan would blame solely himself for that. After all, Sir Balkov, or father as Bryan had always imagined him as, was only thinking his good.