Post by salvatore on Nov 16, 2021 20:34:06 GMT -6
Angelo Salvatore had arrived in Black Pyramid Wrestling when he boarded the Ever Given, with a clear and stated purpose. He did not mince his words when it came to his opinion of BPW, and all of its staff: including the roster. His family’s casino; his family’s home had been nearly turned to rubble due to the anarchy caused by the promotion during it’s chaotic stint in Las Vegas.
“Franco? Are you alright? Call me back.”
“Fuck.” Angelo Salvatore yelled as he threw the phone into his backpack that laid next to him. He looked out at the ocean, as he stood on the docks of Ho Chi Minh City. He had been calling Franco for days, with no luck. The same went for the Moreaux brothers. He worried something was happening back in Las Vegas, and with him in an entirely different region of the world, he was helpless to know or to aid in whatever trouble may be brewing in the Sin CIty. Salvatore stood there for a moment, bathing in the tranquility of the ocean and a quiet he had never been used to. He picked up his backpack and began walking into Ho Chi Minh City.
As Angelo entered his poorly-lit, rundown Motel room, he tossed his backpack on the bed. As it was only partially zipped, something slipped out of it and onto the thin bedspread.
It was a Glock. It’s presence in the bag wasn’t of any surprise to Salvatore, naturally...but despite that, he looked at it in silence, for a moment. “Whatever you gotta do.” He said aloud, reaffirming what was at stake; reminding himself why he was here. This wasn’t a self-indulgent search for gold or accomplishments. He wasn’t in search of fame or even infamy. He was just in search of revenge. It consumed his being for the time and, despite acknowledging that, he was primed to do whatever he needed to do, to find it. Money, chaos, death, it didn’t matter what the revenge looked like.
Suddenly, a loud thud coming from what seemed like just on the other side of his door, broke his internal monologue. Without thinking about it, he tucked the glock in his waistband and cautiously moved over to the door, looking through the peep hole.
He saw a body at his door, and nothing else.
“What the fuck?
…
Are you okay?”
A stupid question. He undoubtedly knew the answer. Salvatore creaked open the door and looked around. He saw nothing, and no one.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” He said, under his breath as he saw the man bleeding out. He was long dead. Upon further inspection, he noticed distinct...bite marks...on the man’s neck-both sides.
“Oh no.”
Without thinking it through, Salvatore grabbed one of the man’s arms and dragged him inside before anyone saw the lifeless body at his door. He slammed the door but it stopped before closing. Another figure was in the doorway.
“Mister Salvatore, may I come in?”
He knew the voice instantly. It was the same being that got the drop on him two weeks ago. Was he being followed? Not likely.
“What the hell do you want?”
“To come in.”
A pregnant pause, before “Fine.”
Salvatore turned to face the being, his hand reaching down for the glock.
“I wouldn’t.”
Salvatore wasn’t keen on listening to another bullshit speech. He pulled the glock on his ‘guest’, but he sprung forward! Everything went black.
Salvatore awakened some time later. It was now night, but he was still in his room. And so was...it.
“You just had to make this more difficult on yourself, didn’t you?”
“Wha?” Salvatore sat up from his blood-soaked bed. He was alarmed at that as he jolted upward.
“Oh, relax. It’s just a little blood. You’ll get used to it.”
“Get used to it?”
It pointed at his neck. Salvatore ran his fingers along his neck until he felt the marks.
“You mother fucker.”
“Don’t need to be so harsh, Salvatore. Believe it or not, you’ll be a valued member in time. Unlike Franco and the Moreaux brothers.”
“What?”
It shrugged. “Dead. The whole gosh darn family! All of em. Massacred.”
“Fucking Aztecs.”
It laughed. “Who else?”
Salvatore slouched back down on the bed, forgetting for now it was soaked with his own blood. Everything, everyone he was fighting for was dead.
“You still have important work to do.”
Salvatore shook his hand dismissively. “Nah, FUCK that.”
They locked eyes. It peered into his soul, if he still even had one.
“You will continue on, in Black Pyramid Wrestling. You will investigate Conrad Dukes, and you WILL find out what he’s doing.”
Salvatore was in a trance. He nodded and replied simply “I will.”
In the blink of an eye, Salvatore was again alone in his motel room, the man that had been killed in front of his door was also gone. The blood stained sheets were gone. He began to wonder if he had some kind of demonic day dream. Then he looked into the mirror and it confirmed the worst.
He had no reflection.
He ran his fingers through his hair, it was greasy and matted. He needed to shower, but somehow personal hygiene was the last thing on his mind. In the blink of an eye, his entire life was wiped out by the Aztecs, and now he was seemingly sired to them. It was a nightmare. He was still in control of one thing, though. He still had a match to win, and even still, he was hellbent on finding Conrad Dukes.
Suddenly, that was ALL he could think about.
“Find Conrad Dukes.
FInd out what he is up to.
Get what is mine. Get what was stolen from us.
Do what is necessary.”
“Franco? Are you alright? Call me back.”
“Fuck.” Angelo Salvatore yelled as he threw the phone into his backpack that laid next to him. He looked out at the ocean, as he stood on the docks of Ho Chi Minh City. He had been calling Franco for days, with no luck. The same went for the Moreaux brothers. He worried something was happening back in Las Vegas, and with him in an entirely different region of the world, he was helpless to know or to aid in whatever trouble may be brewing in the Sin CIty. Salvatore stood there for a moment, bathing in the tranquility of the ocean and a quiet he had never been used to. He picked up his backpack and began walking into Ho Chi Minh City.
As Angelo entered his poorly-lit, rundown Motel room, he tossed his backpack on the bed. As it was only partially zipped, something slipped out of it and onto the thin bedspread.
It was a Glock. It’s presence in the bag wasn’t of any surprise to Salvatore, naturally...but despite that, he looked at it in silence, for a moment. “Whatever you gotta do.” He said aloud, reaffirming what was at stake; reminding himself why he was here. This wasn’t a self-indulgent search for gold or accomplishments. He wasn’t in search of fame or even infamy. He was just in search of revenge. It consumed his being for the time and, despite acknowledging that, he was primed to do whatever he needed to do, to find it. Money, chaos, death, it didn’t matter what the revenge looked like.
Suddenly, a loud thud coming from what seemed like just on the other side of his door, broke his internal monologue. Without thinking about it, he tucked the glock in his waistband and cautiously moved over to the door, looking through the peep hole.
He saw a body at his door, and nothing else.
“What the fuck?
…
Are you okay?”
A stupid question. He undoubtedly knew the answer. Salvatore creaked open the door and looked around. He saw nothing, and no one.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” He said, under his breath as he saw the man bleeding out. He was long dead. Upon further inspection, he noticed distinct...bite marks...on the man’s neck-both sides.
“Oh no.”
Without thinking it through, Salvatore grabbed one of the man’s arms and dragged him inside before anyone saw the lifeless body at his door. He slammed the door but it stopped before closing. Another figure was in the doorway.
“Mister Salvatore, may I come in?”
He knew the voice instantly. It was the same being that got the drop on him two weeks ago. Was he being followed? Not likely.
“What the hell do you want?”
“To come in.”
A pregnant pause, before “Fine.”
Salvatore turned to face the being, his hand reaching down for the glock.
“I wouldn’t.”
Salvatore wasn’t keen on listening to another bullshit speech. He pulled the glock on his ‘guest’, but he sprung forward! Everything went black.
Salvatore awakened some time later. It was now night, but he was still in his room. And so was...it.
“You just had to make this more difficult on yourself, didn’t you?”
“Wha?” Salvatore sat up from his blood-soaked bed. He was alarmed at that as he jolted upward.
“Oh, relax. It’s just a little blood. You’ll get used to it.”
“Get used to it?”
It pointed at his neck. Salvatore ran his fingers along his neck until he felt the marks.
“You mother fucker.”
“Don’t need to be so harsh, Salvatore. Believe it or not, you’ll be a valued member in time. Unlike Franco and the Moreaux brothers.”
“What?”
It shrugged. “Dead. The whole gosh darn family! All of em. Massacred.”
“Fucking Aztecs.”
It laughed. “Who else?”
Salvatore slouched back down on the bed, forgetting for now it was soaked with his own blood. Everything, everyone he was fighting for was dead.
“You still have important work to do.”
Salvatore shook his hand dismissively. “Nah, FUCK that.”
They locked eyes. It peered into his soul, if he still even had one.
“You will continue on, in Black Pyramid Wrestling. You will investigate Conrad Dukes, and you WILL find out what he’s doing.”
Salvatore was in a trance. He nodded and replied simply “I will.”
In the blink of an eye, Salvatore was again alone in his motel room, the man that had been killed in front of his door was also gone. The blood stained sheets were gone. He began to wonder if he had some kind of demonic day dream. Then he looked into the mirror and it confirmed the worst.
He had no reflection.
He ran his fingers through his hair, it was greasy and matted. He needed to shower, but somehow personal hygiene was the last thing on his mind. In the blink of an eye, his entire life was wiped out by the Aztecs, and now he was seemingly sired to them. It was a nightmare. He was still in control of one thing, though. He still had a match to win, and even still, he was hellbent on finding Conrad Dukes.
Suddenly, that was ALL he could think about.
“Find Conrad Dukes.
FInd out what he is up to.
Get what is mine. Get what was stolen from us.
Do what is necessary.”