03-07-2023, 02:42 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-09-2023, 02:03 AM by Alistair Bishop.)
“Fuck. What have I done.” Abraham said under his breath. Known in the ring as Alistair Bishop, his real name was Abraham James.
Those words slipped under his breath as he exited a subway station, looking up to see central Moscow. A boy from Columbus, Ohio, a boy from nothing, was standing near the center of power in the world. The opulence, architecture, and speed at which the city was moving around him overwhelmed him and left him feeling frozen, unable to move.
He stood there, looking up, swallowed up by inner-city Moscow. Alistair slowly pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with an address—time to go. Like how any journey begins, he took a step forward, the city engulfing him as he walked to his apartment.
Abraham’s living arrangements were all pre-arranged. He had been recruited to join an underground fighting league across several clubs. According to rumors he had heard, this league was the minor league for Almaz. If you do well for your patron, you will be rewarded by “graduating” to Almaz.
He arrived at his apartment and scanned in with a keycard given to him at the door.
His living quarters were humble. Located in a 10-story high-rise on the sixth floor, his apartment was modest. It was a one-bedroom, tiny bonus room, fully furnished with an open floor plan.
As he entered his room, he dropped his leather duffle on the floor and noticed an on-the-island a white envelope that said only his name, Alistair. Inside the envelope was a thick stack of cash and a small card.
Written on the card:
Time to take his shot.
Those words slipped under his breath as he exited a subway station, looking up to see central Moscow. A boy from Columbus, Ohio, a boy from nothing, was standing near the center of power in the world. The opulence, architecture, and speed at which the city was moving around him overwhelmed him and left him feeling frozen, unable to move.
He stood there, looking up, swallowed up by inner-city Moscow. Alistair slowly pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with an address—time to go. Like how any journey begins, he took a step forward, the city engulfing him as he walked to his apartment.
Abraham’s living arrangements were all pre-arranged. He had been recruited to join an underground fighting league across several clubs. According to rumors he had heard, this league was the minor league for Almaz. If you do well for your patron, you will be rewarded by “graduating” to Almaz.
He arrived at his apartment and scanned in with a keycard given to him at the door.
His living quarters were humble. Located in a 10-story high-rise on the sixth floor, his apartment was modest. It was a one-bedroom, tiny bonus room, fully furnished with an open floor plan.
As he entered his room, he dropped his leather duffle on the floor and noticed an on-the-island a white envelope that said only his name, Alistair. Inside the envelope was a thick stack of cash and a small card.
Written on the card:
First Fight Details
Club Name: Red
Fight #1 – Bareknuckle Boxing
Time: 10:30 PM
Fight #2 – Mixed Martial Arts
Time: Midnight
When you arrive, ask for Jade.
Alistair was exhausted. He traveled for over 24 hours, snaking his way from Middle America to Moscow. He was exhausted and needed a shower. Alistair stripped off his clothes, catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He saw scars from his fights and muscles built from hard work and discipline. He saw that every inch of his body was made for what was about to happen.
Club Name: Red
Fight #1 – Bareknuckle Boxing
Time: 10:30 PM
Fight #2 – Mixed Martial Arts
Time: Midnight
When you arrive, ask for Jade.
Alistair was exhausted. He traveled for over 24 hours, snaking his way from Middle America to Moscow. He was exhausted and needed a shower. Alistair stripped off his clothes, catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He saw scars from his fights and muscles built from hard work and discipline. He saw that every inch of his body was made for what was about to happen.
Time to take his shot.