Together [Michael Bishop, BFG]

Together [Michael Bishop, BFG] Apr 14, 2022 19:36:13 GMT -5 Brandon Hendrix, bennett, and 1 more like this

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Post by Michael Bishop on Apr 14, 2022 19:36:13 GMT -5

“Michael…”

We find Bishop scrambling awake… however he’s not in the safety of his home, but… somewhere else. He awakes on a forest floor, the air is dry… he gazes around. It’s dark, the leaves, grass and fauna appear… Crimson. In different mythologies, the Red Forest is symbolic of pain, misery- guilt. The ambience of it all causes his hairs to stand on edge as he scrambles to his feet. He was no stranger to the supernatural fuckery that plagued the industry now; whether it be Havoc, Abholos, or the hallucinations of Arata Asakura. However… something wasn’t right… he gazes around, trying to see where the voice came from.

“Hello… Mike”.

He pauses… It was a voice he thought he’d never hear again. He slowly turns, to gaze into the eyes of what was once his Brother In Arms, Mafia Cohort, and the only tag partner he could ever trust- at least, back then; Jason Long. Or, now, just The Entity. The two gaze at each other, Bishop can only feel the burning hatred and bitter agony of not being able to stop what happened to his friend now standing across from him. They lock eyes- Bishop reaches for his gun, but, it isn’t there.

The Entity laughs; “Look at you, Michael. The last gunslinger of the golden age of fighting, still reaching for the iron on your hip. You really only ever did feel comfortable when a gun was in your hand and violence was rushing through your veins”, “What do you want”. The Entity gestures to himself, cockily, mockingly he shakes his head as he begins to circle the Dreadknight- a hyena not yet bearing its teeth. “We never did get to chat Bishop… what with the whole Jason business… the Alyssa Grace business…. The Savannah Sunshine business. You kind of fell by the wayside. So now… we get the chance to chat. Mano a’ Mano, Michael 'Fuckin' Bishop”.

“You’re a psychotic little manlet son of a bitch, who threatened my family, my child, and called me a wife beater. You think I’m gonna entertain you? Fuck that, fuck this- and Fuck You”. The Entity holds his hands out, innocently, but his eyes quickly turn venomous; “Oh come on!! You thought I was being serious?! All the shit you say and that’s where the line is drawn? Tell me, Bishop, how many people have you threatened to slit their throat, end their bloodline, how many people have you threatened to send back home to their family ‘In a fuckin box’?!... Countless… You always were a cold blooded, bloodthirsty son of a bitch. You never did care about anything other than the thrill of the win, the thrill of the fight, no matter how many friends got lost along the way-”.

Bishop closes the distance, the air grows stale, he squares up to the Entity; “You don’t get to say that".

“Yes I do”,
“You took advantage of a man’s lowest moment, my friend!! My brother!! My tag partner and the only motherfucker I trusted my life with, you infiltrated his body, possessed him. Tell me you fucking snake, where is Jason?! WHERE?!”. “Jason is dead” the Entity states coldly, Michael shakes his head “Bullshit”, “Damn!! Did Savannah not tell you? Tell you the full story?! Hell, did Alyssa not even give you the benefit of hearing the truth? Jason Long is dead and gone”.

A moment of silence passes, as Bishop breaks off, backing away as he processes it. He’d theorized it… a gut feeling told him all along, but he didn’t believe it- he didn’t want to believe it. He shakes his head, muttering “God… dammit…” through gritted teeth”. The moment of vulnerability was… unexpected, to the entity, though that didn’t stop his vicious assault: “Jason is gone because when he needed you most, you weren’t there-”, “Oh Fuck you”, “Your tag partner, your brother… he hit rock bottom and you weren’t there to save him-”.

“I WAS GOD DAMMIT!!! I TRIED!!!” Bishop shouts, echoing in the forest around.

The Entity now closes in on Bishop, getting right into his face, breaking his usual stoic, yet cunt like demeanour; “Well not enough. How many friends have you failed, Michael Bishop?! Savannah Sunshine trusted you, she was your family, hell she is your family, and she fell right into Arik Holt’s manipulation. She looked up to you and now all she sees is an old man, a disgrace, and a betrayer. Jeff X succumbed not once but twice to demons, while all you could do was sit and watch. Because you’re comfortable on the sidelines, just like good old Havoc said. Theodor Pavel carved up, thrown off a cliff. Your tag partner, the other half of the Mafia… Jason. Gone. Memories merging soon to be no more..”.

Mike stares at The Entity, it dawns on him; “... You’re dying….”. “Close to it, but yeah. Soon I won’t be able to remember yesterday from today. And yet, even as I try to come to terms with it all… all I see in the cracks is Michael Bishop, the man who could have prevented this… skipping off into the distance with his new buddy-buddy Liz Karlson and all the while forgetting about the brotherhood he left behind”.

“Liz Karlson approached me”,
“And you didn’t hesitate to move onto the next partner in crime”,
“Yes-the fuck-I did”.

“And now here you are, right where you were with Jason. Fighting for the tag titles, will you cast her aside?! Will you stab her in the back?! Tell me Bishop- you pride yourself on being the man in the back, others take the spotlight but you work in the shadows. Hard to do that now, huh Clash Winner? Huh, SSW American Heavyweight Champion? Huh, Combat Sports Legends? After all these years you’re coming into your own. So tell me… all of the blood, all of the mistakes, what do you have to say for yourself?!”

“Every single time I have let someone down, no matter how much I tried… I’ve always internalized it. Carried the loss and dead of it on my shoulders like I have for everything for 20 fucking years, son. Before you were a twinkle in Long’s demented eye. I wish I could do nothing but go back and change it but all that got me was a 700 day stay in a prison I built for myself in my soul, and nothing but survivor's guilt. Jason Long was my brother, my friend… it’ll eat me up inside…. Every single time I crack open a drink knowing I won’t ever be able to share a glass and laugh with him again, it’ll haunt me. Every time I look at the Kpro tag title in my case and remember the man who helped me win it, who I failed…. But I won’t let it weigh me down or defeat me now. This world, this sport… it tests all of us… and I can’t be there to save everyone. They can blame me, call me a failure, a disgrace, a demon, a villain. At the end of the day I’m still going to strap on my gloves and march tall against the rain because the alternative is laying face down in the mud, and that is no alternative, you fucking demonic freak!! I failed Jason Long… the Mafia is gone. But I am still here, BFG Division is here. I might not have wanted to ever team up after the loss of my brother but I will not fail my sister in arms. I found solace and redemption in BFG Division, and I fully intend on winning those titles with her, shoulder to shoulder”.

The Entity’s fury seems to have died down, Bishop gazes around, the “forest” air no longer seeming so stale and otherworldly. He looks back into it’s eyes one last time: “I don’t know what the fuck you brought me here for… but I hope you got it, because I’m not entertaining any of this anymore”.

Bishop awakens in a cold sweat, he quickly snaps around… to see he’s in bed at home. He rubs his temples, the blue light from Chicago leaks in through the curtains as Bishop rolls out of bed. He’s careful not to wake his wife… One weight is lifted, another one is dropped on his shoulders… He finally got to confront the thing that took his previous tag partner away, and yet, knows the truth that he will never see his Brother in Arms again. Bishop’s phone rings;

One door closes, another opens.

“Hey Killer. You ready?” Liz Karlson, other half of the BFG Division, current Apex Heavyweight Champion. In Bishop’s own words: A Bad motherfucker. “Always, Karlson, you run down yet?”, “Like you, grandpa? No, not yet. Hell… I’ve never felt more alive”. Bishop walks over to the balcony window of his house, facing the distant skyline. “Good, cause we’re gonna blitz Phantom Troupe. They talked a whole load of horseshit saying we didn’t earn our way here. Let’s show them what we showed the other three tag teams”.

Liz laughs “Look at you!! A few months ago, you didn’t know what to think. Now? We’re side by side for the belts. I knew you had it in your old, crusty pessimistic heart”. “Let’s just say you convinced me, Let’s just say… any previous doubts or phantoms I had hanging over my head are over. It’s BFG Division’s time now. But make no mistake, these are the champions… We’re gonna have to gun it from the bell, and do whatever the hell it takes”.

“I’m good for it. You with it, Bishop?”

“Always”.

I’m a creature of adaptation, of rebirth and resurgence. I’ve found myself on the wrong end of someone else’s success story enough times to know that in this new age, the old ways of doing things aren’t going to work. Or, well, work alone. Being a fighter is one thing, being mixed martial artist is another…. Not many can carry the mantle of what that truly brings, being able to mesh styles from across the globe, across disciplines and sports to creature the perfect stylesblend to rule, ko, and submit them all. Professional Wrestling is the ultimate proving ground of that. A thousand styles, a million stipulation- but even as I’ve lived, breed, and sent every single motherfucker to their maker there’s one that’s always alluded me for a specific reason.

Tag Matches. Simple, yet deadly if there is one thing out of place. You cannot win one alone, and to try is suicide. Trust me, I learned that the hard way years ago. Tag Teams have also become a staple and as common and popular as any heavyweight champ, triple crown champ, grand slam champ, hall of famer out there. My struggle with them was never with being able to keep up the times, even 20 years deep into this game, I’ve still managed to not only make it to the bar, but set the bar, and raised the bar for technique, for aggression, and for absolute fucking ruthless aggression against your foes. It’s because of that… finding a suitable partner was always hard. My biggest weakness was always getting stabbed in the back, half the scars that line my body aren’t just from the opponent, but for the people I trusted to my left and right. Hard to trust the foundation of a unit, when they’ve got a gun prime to shoot you in the back of the head when you turn around.

For the longest time, The Mafia was the only unit I could trust. Jason Long, my brother in arms, fought with me in promotion after promotion. Through thick and thin we stayed the course, through high and low, we stuck it out. Even when rumors circulated of betrayal, I didn’t believe them, not for a single moment. Then, one day, he stopped picking up the phone. It’s been a hard road since then, the new year brought with it 15 miles of shit, 15 miles of scars lining my spine, 15 miles of setbacks, losses, and grief. A few months ago, I didn’t believe I would be able to bounce back. Then, I met Liz fuckin’ Karlson.

Like I said, the ability to find someone who can meet the tempo I set, the drive I have, and the absolute skill in the ring coupled with the pace of brutality is few and far between. But, not existent. The Brick Shithouse is a legend in her own right; a Heavyweight Champion in one promotion, hot on the heels of a world title in another, and wanting to branch into the tag team division. Liz Karlson has also had her fair share of setbacks, losses, and grief…. The bullshit of this industry neck high leaving with it a bunch of contrarian cunts doubting the ability of one of the very best in the world. So… She dealt with it the only way she could. She taped her hands, raised the Black Flag of war and, in her words; “Went to the only other motherfucker in this place I knew would have my back”.

Me.

BFG Division. Not since the Queens of Wrestling has there been a tag team that has, in such a short amount of time, dominated and assumed the role as the future premiere tag team in the world. Not since The Corsairs has a team ever been so in sync with each others abilities that even in the chaotic fog of war that is a tag team match, can they meet up with laser accuracy and deal death blow after death blow, to tag team after tag team, show after show… Well. Until the Post-Crowning 2 Fallout rolled around… and in the bitter, disgusting, nepotistic filled air that blanketed the company, a sword of kerosene and hated fueled fire burned through that motherfucker, and brought with it the spark of a new era, and a new idea: Down with the kings, queens, and tyrants stepping on the necks of people, stealing opportunities and getting by via bullshit, via cheats, via sex, drugs, and under the table favours. Death to the True Society, the Nightmare King, and the paper champions that dare to say they’re worthy of their gold. And whatever gods exist help those who dare to stand in the way of the Division, to rule the Division. Not since the Mafia, has there been a tag team that has embodied No Gods, No Master, that has embodied Fuck Around and Find Out.

Liz Karlson and I are two absolute fucking units, epitomes of our craft and upbringings, the magnum opus of what happens when you put to pure fucking war machines in their prime together and usher in a new era of champions; dominant, fighting, defending, and conquering, and not like the motherfuckers that use dollar store goons to get low blow wins, no. We’re talking knuckle to temple, bone on bone, the gladiators are fucking here, and god dammit, it’s time for champion blood to flow one boot high at Public Execution!!!

Phantom Troupe. DJ, Kyle. You boasted about your lineage leading up to this bout, and yet you forgot the first god damn rule of being a champion: It is the men and women behind those straps and leather, that make the goddamn belts. And if you rest on your laurels for a second, you are dead meat, because you are only as good as your next fight. Your next match, your next- and last, defense. It’s time to show you what it really means to be a fighting champion, it’s time to show you how it feels to have your titles encroached upon, and taken away from you, without a single goddamn minute to spare.

“Alright, no breaks this time- AGAIN!!”

Mike thinks back to the times he’s been kicked. Really fucking hard. He thinks back to the head kick he received from a certain Polish Warhammer back in MMA, damn near severing his head from his neck if it weren’t for all the goddamn 80lb shrugs he does. He thinks back to the infamous soccer kicks of Aria Jaxon, and how he got a friendly re-reminder as to why Pride Fighting Rules were always the most vicious. Hell he thinks about Savannah Sunshine, and how her “Shiniest Rainbow” was hard enough to break his nose.

He thinks of all of these-
and then forgets them as Liz Karlson head kicks him so hard the training pad did nothing.

“Full Fucking Force”, as the brick shithouse herself likes to call it. The most vicious axe kick in the world, as commentators have called it. And a straight line path to CTE City as Bishop regarded it, after he staggered to a knee, dropping the pad as waited for the world to stop shaking. As his ears started to clear up, he could hear Karlson laughing: “I mean, you did say ‘No Breaks’.... I’m not gonna have to take you to the retirement home early, am I?”. Bishop laughs, he shakes his head and punches the mat of the training room they’re in with his fist. Cracking his neck, he’s more than impressed; “See, you just hit Hunter or Valentine with that, and they’ll be fast asleep”.

“Don’t sell yourself short… that bicycle kick of yours did win you the Clash. Something that I can’t boast-”, “None of that. You are the Apex Heavyweight Champion, and pretty soon you’ll be the WWC champion. But in the coming days you’re just gonna have to settle with being one half of the Project Honor Tag Champions”. They break for water, Bishop sits down on the bench back against the wall as Karlson can’t help but pace.

“We’ve got them dead to fucking rights, Mike” She says, confidently. Bishop however shakes his head; “Nothing’s ever that simple in Project Honor, even now. They’re still the champions”, “-Champions who you threw out of the god damn ring. Don’t sell yourself short, Bishop. That Tyrant Battle Royal was a shitshow, but you still eliminated the tag team champions at the same god damn time… Broken, defeated, and eliminated. Before they even had the chance to break a swear, they were bleeding from their ears. A few months ago, we both hit a rough stop… now? Months later?? World titles, clashes, opportunities, and top guy spots… Even on our own, we’ve fed off the fuckin’ energy. We’re natural born killers, we’re the killers. We’re still undefeated because we don’t know how to lose, and we won’t accept defeat unless we’re both lashed to a cross. What happens in that ring ain’t just another win, Mike. We’re gonna take their titles, we’re gonna send them out with their little folded flag like the Wish.Com Phantom Troupe they are, and we’re not only gonna write the wrongs so far, but we’re gonna make a statement while we god damn do it-”.

“Via the Public Execution of the World Tag Team Champions”, “Exactly”. Bishop nods; “You know… I don’t believe in that fatism bullshit. Personally I believe Destiny’s worked against me and always tried to make me someone else’s stepping stone… but if that is still holding true, we’ve been doing one hell of a job flipping her off”.

“Every single day, Killer. Now come on, your turn I think you owe me a kick to the dome after that shit”, “Heh… later, for now I need both of us at 100% for what comes next”.

DJ Hunter.

Kyle Valentine.

Both halves of Project Honor’s reigning, defending, World Tag Team Champions. “Phantom Troupe”, funny. You’re not the first Phantom Troupe I’ve faced, and I have to admit boys, I’m disappointed. For all of the prestige you flaunt, it’s a whole hell of a lot less impressive when you read between the goddamn lines of Project Honor’s top transitionary carcasses. Here’s some advice boys: If you’re gonna name yourselves after one of professional wrestling’s deadliest fuckin’ groups, you better meet the god damn tempo because like I said, I am sorridly fucking disappointed. The title that motherfuckers like Darkane, Jacob Senn, and so many other militants in japan once carried as their banner has been relegated to a couple of dipshits who’s biggest claim to fame was that they managed to beat several freakshow teams on their way to just barely scraping by a once formidable tag team unit.

I’m clinical, I’m an analyst… I like to know every variable and eliminate as many unknowns as I can on the road to war and the more I look, the more sick I get. I see DJ Hunter nearly tapping out every match, with Kyle Valentine having to save him. I see Kyle Valentine getting too in-over-his-little-manlet head because he is so hungry to prove himself to the boys back home, he nearly loses everything. I see a tag team who’s rise to power came from fighting tag teams that were either over the hill, or completely divided. Myojin and Emmanuelle, Havoc and Arata… you know what the difference between them, and us is, boys?

We are fucking Divison. As stated, I’m ready to die in that god damn ring, and I’m reading to fight it out on that hill to the last side by side with Liz. I can say that is something I have not felt for the better part of a year. I feel alive, I feel secure, I feel fucking fired up!! I feel confident and ready heading into this because we are a proven and just tag team. Levy and his little freakshow assistant talked all that hard shit, tried to bury us and yet when one half couldn’t keep up his end, they broke, they fell, and they got fucking pinned. Alyssa Grace and Mr. Right, a former champion and a current champion, two people who everyone said had us beat… on paper… soon learned that in reality alone, they might have a chance… but together? All they ever were was too finished motherfuckers awaiting that second bell. Angelo Caito, and Zack Cage, two top guys, one of which is one of Project Honor’s most decorated champions- found himself facing efficient dismemberment again, and again, as we earned our title shot through blood, through wins, and through significant strikes again, and again.

I don’t think I have to warn you boys, but you seem to be head firmly up your own ass, sipping your own koolaid. You’re the champions, and while you might have squeezed by Slade and Julius… We are not too over the hill motherfuckers relegating ourselves to blowing up smoke with wrong predictions on the F’N Edge. We are a fucking tag team, we are the best in the world right now and we’ve got every company, every continent on notice right now. We are hot on the heels of multiple world champions, heavyweight champions, challengers- and the world tag team champions. I don’t think I have to remind you boys the last time you came in fully cocked, head in the game and ready… despite my loss at The Crowning, Phantom Troupe was underneath my fucking booth. I remember blitzkreiging you both, I eliminating you both, and before the end of the night one half of the BF-Fuckin-G Divison cleared you out and stacked you like a bunch of fucking bricks. So tell me, gentlemen, reigning, defending, belt holders? What the fuck are you gonna do in there against both of us? You’re really gonna sing the same song? The same mantra? Try the same formula that barely worked last time, against the only other worthy tag team in the entire company?

Fuck No, Fuck That, Fuck You- get in this god damn ring and prepare to get fucking stacked. We are here to take your belts, we are here to take our place as the world tag team champions and we’re not gonna take no for an answer because that match only ends via Decisive BFG Victory. And whether it ends with your body breaking first as your back hits the canvas, or your mind snapping as you tap, it won’t matter. Your compliance for our rise to power here is not necessary and we will shit all of the doubtful, shit talking mouths of this toxic little funhouse when we both get our hands raise sky-fucking-high.

“She likes you”

“Who? The baby, or Liz?”

Bishop finds himself somewhere… unexpected. At the home of one of his newest trainees; Kit Darling, in the nursery. Originally, it was supposed to be another day of training. It’s said Out of every 2 weeks, half of it is spent training, and another quarter is spent training others. Michael has been dedicated to giving back ever since his return in 2020… this meant taking up more coaching jobs that he ever thought he’d be capable. But, alas, with over 70+ trainees to his names, half of which are now big names in the sport… Bishop is, effectively, the Godfather of the new wave. Again… it was supposed to be another day of training, however… Kit couldn’t get her daughter to sleep the night before.

He’s brutally honest, ruthlessly efficient… but he’s 34, he’s married, and he will also be a parent in a few short months. So, there Michael Bishop is, sat on a stool rocking Anastasia back and forth while Kit rests on a chair damn near passed out. “Ana, but…. You and Liz seem to get along nicely” Kit says, rubbing her eyes and sipping out of her cup of coffee. “You shouldn’t drink that stuff, it’s bad for you”, “Excuse me?!”, “It’ll stagnate your growth”, “Okay first-”.

“You’re gonna wake the gremlin, calm down…” Bishop says, Kit surrenders and grumbles. “So… you two ready for…. What was it’s name?”, “Public Execution”, “God… such edgy names. Yeah. You ready?”. He shrugs “We’re always ready… but if you mean ready to win? Absolutely”.

A moment of silence passes, after Bishop’s got the kid to sleep, he places her back in the crib. Kit can’t help but watch; “....I’m proud of you”, he raises an eyebrow “What?”. “I remember months back… after all of that stuff with Arata… after the Crowning. You were talking about retirement, you were unsure heading into the Clash. Yet. You still pressed on. You won…. I was actually considering quitting before you agreed to train me. Having a baby… well, I felt tired and exhausted”.

“No one’s ever truly beyond the point of no return. I was borderline crippled before I decided to come back”, “Yeah, that… some people joke, but to everyone who saw you come back from that…. not many could have. No matter how many people tried to stop you. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I am proud to see you make it this far-”. Bishop cuts her off; “We’re not done yet. I’m not done yet. Kit… whether you want to be or not, you’re part of this next era. Hell, you and Liz are, technically. I always tell people… I can give you all the skills, techniques, transitions, it’s up to you to utilize them. I gave you the offer to help you get back into fighting shape, only you could have made the choice to commit to it. You did. And even if you don’t think you can… you will be a world champion one day”.

“What about you?”.

“I’ve got a few promises to keep. And I’ve got an oath to fulfill. Liz is depending on me to be the motherfucker she needs shoulder to shoulder with her. And I don’t give a shit what little cracked out maneuver those vanilla midgets try to pull. We will take their titles, and we will start a fuckin reign of terror on Fallout. May god have mercy on their souls”.

We need to win, We will win.

These titles have been sitting in monotony and irrelevancy for months now, because of Phantom Troupe, because of you. I can’t stress this enough, DJ, Kyle, but I could throw a fucking ball backstage and hit 7 people who don’t even know who the fuck the tag team champions are. You claim you’re dominating the division, that you are the division… hard to boast about a division when a mid tier team flaunts gold over an incredibly top heavy brand. Enough is enough.

It’s time we fully usher in a renaissance of career excellence by decorating the Division with hard fought, hard earned gold. It’s time we put any and all doubts to rest, and it’s time we solidify the formerly unlikely, currently supreme, soon to be reigning, defending, ruling tag team champions of Michael Bishop and Liz Karlson in the history of Project Honor. This isn’t the end, this isn’t the peak… this is one milestone of many. Project Honor welcomes it’s newcomers with nothing but pain, neglect, and acidic waters- a figurative D-Day where you will either sink or swim. But even when bathed and baptized in the fires, we have persevered, even when drowned in sorrows, we have risen. Even when buried under 6ft of dirt we chiseled, chipped, and dug our way out not stopping until we saw the light, until we saw the end, until we saw those ending bells.

Hunter, Valentine.

Many will enter this ring, some for money, some for vanity, very few for true passion. Few will hold titles, even fewer will be able to defend them. I will commend you once, just once… but soon after I’m going to have to break the new that we are going to take your belts, take your prestige, take your momentum, and we are going to send you home to your producers, managers, and entourage- your family and friends, in a fucking box.

This is Dreadknight country,

This is BFG Turf.

Our banner has long been planted in this soul, ran through the hearts of every team that tried to stop us, and soon? It will go through yours too.

See you soon.

At the end of a long training camp, a long road to war… Michael Bishop has one last glass of whiskey as he looks out onto a night sky. The nightmares, the fears, and the doubts that plagued him the mornings before. Gone….. He watches the distant lights flicker on the Chicago skyline… 2.9 million in the city’s core, 8 million in the metropolitan area. Many watching his progress, many who grew up with fewer opportunities inspired by his ability to persevere through the gutter. He takes this moment, the calm before the storm.

Then, his phone rings… Bishop looks at it, answering;

“What’s up?” Mike asks.

“Nothing I wanted to say thanks for the training advice earlier-” Brandon Hendrix says, “Wasn’t too familiar with submissions, but… it was a good crash course”. Bishop sips his whiskey, his calculative mind turning “Just remember what I told you. It’s all just pressure points and angles. Once you realize that, everything comes easier”.

“You know, Stella’ told me you were a fucking fanatic with this shit, I didn’t believe it before” Hendrix admits. Bishop raises an eyebrow “Stella?”, “yeah… She’s a bloody superfan. Knows damn near everything about her ‘favorite’ wrestlers. Hell apparently she said you… went, I dunno, to some mountain fortress to train with monks?”.

Bishop rubs his eyes… but nods “Yeah…”, “Wait, hold up, you-”, “Climbed 2,000ft to a Bhutanese monk summit, yeah. I was enraged in my youth, a symptom of being trained by a psychotic lunatic to embrace my anger with no chance of letting go… let’s just say, they helped me temper that shit, even if it took a while”.

“Jesus, alright Christian Bale…. Anyways, Thanks. It’s been a rough road since the Crowning, that was a bad night” Brandon sighs, Bishop shrugs; “We literally cleared the god damn ring, Havoc didn’t stand a fuckin’ chance if he had to face us. I proved it later on in Brazil. Besides… none of that matters now. Billy has been mocking you, underestimating you, and saying every kind of ounce of evil under the sun… You beat ‘em before, you can do it again”.

“Yeah… Don’t you be doubting yourself, old timer. I remember watching you throws those two manlets out of the god damn ring. You two’ve been on a tear… you’ll bury ‘em good. Been a rough road, but bouncing back ain’t for the week”.

Bishop laughs, “What?”, “Could be worse. We could be married to some skinhead…”.

“Ha!!. Yeah, true. Anyways... good luck Bishop”.

“Good luck, Hendrix”.