Michael Bishop
Clients
Posts : 8
Join date : 2021-05-17
 |  Subject: New Age (vs Jake Raab)  Thu Jul 29, 2021 5:05 pm | |
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“Twenty seconds!!”
(Bishop’s fight coach, Jimmy, holds an old school style metal stopwatch, as Michael Bishop wastes no time hitting a speed bag. The speed bag training methodical thought whilst practicing fast strikes… speed, and yet, patience, a strange balance that a 5lb ball of sand in some leather wrapping manages to capture).
“-TIME!!!”.
(Mickey calls out as Bishop releases all of the momentum he’d built up over the last half an hour, cocking back a fist and hitting the bag, sending it flinging around. The Dreadknight walks off, one of the Chicago MMA students tossing him a bottle of water. Jimmy follows).
Jimmy: You know… for a guy your age and your size… you’re one of the fastest I’ve seen.
Bo Maro: That’s not just any guy…
(The entire group, sans Bishop, turns to see Bo Maro, heading over as he drinks in the air of the fighter’s forge they stand in).
Bo Maro: That’s the man who made fighting. That’s a veteran of 2 decades who laid the ground work for every single competitor in the octagon and the squared circle. The guy who’s dominated upwards of two generations of fighters now…. The Fighter.
Jimmy: Exactly!! Gentlemen I think people still don’t understand what this all means… Michael here stalked wrestleworld from miles off, then in the matter of two matches… Parabellum, and a championship match, he’s found championship gold secured tightly around his waist.
Michael Bishop: -The work’s not over.
(Bishop kills the water bottle, tossing it back to the student who runs off to refill it. He looks over to photos on the wall….. When he started training in ‘03, when he debuted professionally in ‘7, championship wins in ‘10, and ‘12, before an allotment of Octagon victory photos. Then… his time in the squared circle: ‘17 when he debuted, ‘20 when he returned from exile…).
(...he stares at the photos of the championships he’s won since February 2020…. A multitude of titles that some hope to even gain a fraction of in their whole career. He stops at the latest: The Territorial Championship. Center of the ring, at the center of a near catastrophic situation…).
Michael Bishop: Complacency kills, boys and girls. I’ve been doing this for a long time, so much so that I was fighting before some of the kids training here were even born. That’s a real fact. I’ll still be fighting when some of them debut, and I may even touch gloves with some of them. But the fact is, at the end of the line I’m here because I know what I’ve had to do, what I need to go. I’m faster than people half my age because I push myself to be there. I’m more lethal than those bigger, stronger, and fresher than me because of the spartanistic upbringing I’ve put myself through.
Bo Maro: The modern day Gladiator.
Michael Bishop: The Gladiator who broke off the chains, and cut through the whole roster, roster after roster, before laying claim to the whole god damn arena. This belt has a lineage that goes back to Myogin, It’s still young in modern terms, but if we’re gonna pull it out of the shit that the Dominion brass decided to soak it in the shit from a few weeks ago, we’re gonna burn it off with hellfire.
Jimmy: The violent retribution only available to the world’s greatest, fighting out of Englewood, Chicago!!
Michael Bishop: Indy Darling will get his, but for now… Jake Raab.
Bo Maro: He’s tough… He cut down Supreme Machine.
Jimmy: There’s a distinct difference between Supreme Machine, and the Territorial Champion here and now, man currently holds gold consecutively on every continent on the earth, that’s a feat!! And now, after 5 years,he’s returning to Mixed Martial Arts….
Bo Maro: Exhibition; 3 minutes, 3 rounds…. Think you can make it work?
Michael Bishop: I would of preferred 25 minutes- but I can do a whole lot in 9. Time to make my first bout as Dominion’s top champion a memorable one.
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It says a lot about my time in Wrestleworld, where at my first press conference as champion, the head interviewer from the promotion had to ask who I was… In 3 short weeks, I won parabellum, clawing victory from the greedy inhibitions of Ares Vendetta and from under the blind rage of Supreme Machine. My first episode of Dominion, I took my chance at destiny and I used my shot against the champion. For better or for worse, the belt changed hands, not in the way I’d like- I’m a beast of aggression. If I had my way, I would’ve left the champion, Zane, broken, bloody, and defeated in the ring after beating the absolute fuck out of her, ripping that title off her shoulder, off her waist, and walking out with my hands bloodied, and my head high…
...But nothing is ever so easy. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a break since the day I walked into combat sports. Everyone gets bright, shining moments, I make due. Everyone gets golden opportunity, I rip mine from destiny’s jaws, and I make due. Everyone seems to get the finish they desired, I bend the world to my will, with my bare hands. This title might not have changed hands as decisively as I wanted, but I promise you it will be carried around by me for the next few years absolutely undisputed.
The first stop on the train of absolution, my return to Mixed Martial Arts, my return to fighting. An exhibition match that would otherwise seem unremarkable, between one of the fiercest on the brand, and the most hungry champion to ever step through 2021’s doors. There’s a lot of ways you can win a bout in the cage, in the ring….
I’ve never been one for decisions, the 40 cold KOs to my name show I am a precise, violent, and talented knock out artist with the most refined striking in the business. The 10 submission I have, after breaking a man’s will, crawling into the guards of black belts, and choking the fuckin’ life out of them, show that I walked into that submission match ready to shut her fucking lights out and make the champ tap. I am tried, tested, and proven for over 20 years, over 1,000 fights, 10,000 rounds, against hundreds of opponents who have walked in there, got in my face, and got dropped, stopped, and fuckin’ stacked!!!
Here is the state of the dominion, from your territorial champion: You may have gotten on long enough by champions who were willing to give you an easy out, an easy defeat, but here this- Fuck that shit. Each of you owe me fuckin’ rent while you sit on this brand and collect a paycheck, each of you owe a pound of flesh that I will collect, beating it out of your liver, head hunting your skull, or carving you up on the ground. Each of you, whether the Number One Contender, or Number Sixteen, will find me at your doorstep. You can scream, you can cry, you can take as many scoops of shit, inject whatever the fuck you want because at the end of the day all that bravado has gotten someone who stepped into the cage with me, is an early fuckin’ grave as the ring girls had to step over their fuckin’ grey matter.
Jake Raab you can claim all you want, that we’re the same. We’re not. The canvas you walk on so proudly was laid there by me. The 4oz gloves you wear with pride were broken in by me. Every single cage fighter who says they made it their way had the road they walk on paved by me, the trenches they fight in were dug, furnished, and built by me. Every discipline you’re introduced to, I’ve learned, tested, perfected and mastered in tandem with every other skill of an arsenal of how to kill over decades of mutilating the best Heavyweights in the world.
You may have signed that contract, you may have beaten Supreme Machine. Congratulations: You performed the bare minimum of every fighter in their prime and youth by taking down a schizophrenic mad man who threw nothing but haymakers and front kicks. I’ve been here for one day, one show, and I capture the belt. In the span of 10 minutes I capture the championship, It took me 36 seconds to capture another, I took me 20 minutes after breaking down a Queen in her prime to capture mine, and it took me 17 to slay the Ice Man so tell me, 3 rounds, 3 minutes, what the fuck am I going to do to you?
Let me give you a spoiler and a preview: You owe me rent, you owe me 9 minutes, and I am going to use it up for as long as most certainly fucking want. This may be an exhibition but I am going to prove why I am the fighter, the pinnacle of blood sports, because while I can end this in 30 seconds, I am going to drag this out for as long as I want. The most enticing thing, the thing I crave most about fiery motherfuckers like you is the breaking point. The moment when I’ve smothered that motivation out, and all you wish for is the end. Will it be in the clinch against the ropes, that your morale suddenly breaks and you wish for capitulation? Will it be on the ground, when You’ve got 250lbs of death and war beating your head on, will it be when I bend your good arm to the breaking point, and force the bones to snap after popping just the right tendon?
You’re a dagger, I’m a multi tool. The book you learned your skills from, I theorized, I wrote, I published and I left behind so aspiring students like you could walk onto my turf and find yourself locked in there with me. Call me psychotic, call me evil, I drag people into the deep end and bleed them like a pig. I duck around opponents as their eyes sting from their own red iron, blinded. I pick them apart with a 5 knuckle scalpel, and lay them to rest.
So chin up, soldier. Strap on that war face because I want to see your scowl, I want to hear you growl, I want you to keep that energy because when you break, when you scream, I want you to know it wasn’t by accident, it wasn’t by luck, it was because your veteraned superior and your champion drove his banner through your back, and planted it in you like conquered soil.
Jack Devlin once asked who I am, because I took to the Wrestleworld scene before anyone could even fathom. I now stand here on a captured throne, ready and willing to defend it, so let me tell you. I am the greatest Heavyweight in the world, I am the greatest professional fighter in the world. I am the winningest fighter inside of the cage, and 60 souls belong to me. I have gold on every continent that I walked into the champion’s home turf for, I met them in front of their crowd, their people, and I took it by fuckin’ force. The words I saw are not boasts, they are built off the foundation of bodies I have built with my fuckin’ hands. They are not empty threats, but very real promises of what is to come, laminated in the blood of every better who has come before you, and died.
I am the then, now, and forever Heavyweight King, I am the fucking territorial champion. My name’s Michael Bishop. Every great who taught you how to punch, every red belt who taught you how to choke, every legend you looked up to, learned from, was retired by me. Others break, yet I am indomitable. Many retire, and yet I defy father time day after day. You’re going to walk in there, you’re going to fight, you’re going to give me the best performance of your life, because I fucking told you to, and you’re going to get beaten regardless, because I am telling you I’m going to.
I am hellbent on ensuring this championship goes down in history, and it will. It’s going to be etched in history, and this reign will be the workhorse reign that carries there, hell or high water. So strap on your gloves and put in your mouth guard, little soldier, because you’re going to earn your way into Valhalla whether you want to or not.
See you soon.
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