Pressed up against the doorway, Yuri whips his head around in alarm. The reek of diesel sears the inside of his nose, and maybe it clouds his half-fried brain a little, too, because the motorcycle that's appeared beside him might as well have dropped out of the sky with all the unexpected suddenness of a heat-seeking missile.

And then its rider, in a black helmet and leather jacket (a look that pings wow, that's super-cool in some remote corner of his mind that isn't preoccupied with staving off his imminent death-by-fangirl), calls out to him by name -- and Yuri doesn't even know who or what he's looking at, at first.

'Huh?' It takes a second to for everything to come together, enough to identify the face and voice over the roaring in his head. 'You're -- '

A bad move, to say anything out loud, because the most dedicated of Yuri's Angels have been drawn to the noise in the alleyway, and not only have they found their quarry but also have stumbled upon a wholly new element that complicates matters in an absolutely delightful way.

'It's Yuratchka!' one of them exclaims gleefully, just as her companion gasps in surprise, 'Huh? No way! It's Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan!'