Of Sources And Resources
Oct 17, 2021 10:19:51 GMT -5
CJ Phoenix, Dandy DiVito, and 3 more like this
Post by Carter Shaw on Oct 17, 2021 10:19:51 GMT -5
Blood.
The constant crimson reminder of our mortality. Ya know, it’s funny, it should be the thing that unites us all. Right? We all bleed. Every one of us. Does it come down to something as simple as blood-lust that results in it dividing us just as much? No matter whether you respond to your own with anger and aggression, desperation and panic, or adrenaline...We. All. Bleed. Dandy bleeds, I bleed.
I think the difference in this particular case is what we bleed for. Dandy has always looked out for number one, always. He can’t look past himself, no matter what goods he tries to sell you all at any given time. Picking Sam Kidsgrove as his fellow Tag Team Champion was a selfish powerplay. Dandy got to feel powerful again, trying to send a message to Kidsgrove that he can only win what Dandy gives him. Joining The Following was a self-indulgent reach for relevance that was always going to be at the expense of Kyle Kemp. Wesley was lucky we put him out of that misery.
Dandy has always fought for Dandy. Not for money, he had that fuckin’ birthright. Not for family, not for friends. No. Dandy bleeds for Dandy. He runs his motormouth while he sits on his plastic high horse, defending a kingdom that’s not there. Talkin’ hot about a legacy that’s not there. Just because the barking dog in the neighborhood constantly gets the attention does not mean that it’ll be missed when it dies.
Me? I’m on levels Dandy can’t even begin to comprehend, that fuckin’ societal dropout. You don’t need my backstory, you have it. You don’t need my past motivations, you’ve seen it. But even just right now, in this current snapshot of my life. I fight for the AW World Championship, because like it or not, I do give more of a damn than anyone credits me with about this title. I bleed for it. I fight for Philidor which, regardless of all of your misguided hot takes on the subject, has given me more than I could have ever thought possible. I bleed for these things greater than myself.
That’s the difference. That inch of difference that equals a mile at the end of a fight in that ring. That’s the reason I’ve spent 4 months kicking out, kicking out, kicking out and finding the way to end another chapter while still holding the AW World Championship. It’s the reason Spencer Adams couldn’t do it, Corey Black couldn’t do it, Ash Blake couldn’t do it, Dune couldn’t do it, Corey Bull couldn’t do it, QDT couldn’t do it, Odin Balfore couldn’t do it. Since Evolution, everything has turned up Shaw, and it’s going to continue for as long as I have more to bleed for than ‘the other guy’.
It’s what made the difference when I was a kid fightin’ in the streets and it’s what makes the difference now that I’m YOUR AW champ.
This ain’t necessarily about blood, though, huh. You let Dandy and I scrap with the only limit being an eventual conclusion? 10 times out of 10, you’ll have blood on all 4 hands involved. That’s just how we do, I’m a professional fighter with more grit than your mom’s tit and Dandy, for all that he lacks, still does fight like a hungry dog.
But a First Blood Match?
Another top-notch decision by stubborn AW brass. Daddy Torture talked about upping the game for Action Wrestling, and mixing it up and raising the bar. And then you cut the balls off of your Pay Per View Main Event by making the first to spill blood lose? You took what could have been your Match Of The Year and gave it the opportunity to end in 40 seconds when I catch Dandy in the left eyebrow with a Boston-sized right hook. Plus, I’m pretty sure Dandy is perpetually bleeding from the gums anyways, does that kill the match as soon as the ref sees it?
I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if DiVito himself had a say in this stipulation. After all the challengers he’s watched me outlast this summer, you think Dandy feels like he can hang? You think a bullshit Carnage Stunner is gonna find a way to keep me down for a 3? Hell no, and he knows it because I’ve proven it to him time and time again. Death, taxes, right? I fight the battle of attrition like nobody else before me while Dandy still tries to figure out the battle of nutrition.
Still comin’ out here ready to rub his fingers down his ribcage and tell you he’s got a six-pack.
Simply put, this will just be a fight of a different nature. We’ll be swinging for the fences, but I won’t be bothering with stretching out muscles with submissions trying to get Dandy ready to tap bloody murder to the Philidor Hold, like Corey Bull did.
This ain’t a World Series.
This is ain’t an All-Star Game.
This is a fuckin Homerun Derby.
I bleed for alot of things in this life, but I will not be bleeding for Dandy this Sunday Night at Execution. I will sacrifice anything to keep this title around my waist, and it’s a good thing there’s no sportsmanship left between Dandy and I because there would be no room for it this weekend anyhow.
10/14/21 7:28 PM
New York City
Carter Shaw sat on the wooden bench, taking in his city surroundings. As a Boston native, he always had a natural distaste for NYC. The smells of week-old hot dog water and sidewalk scum, the sounds of road rage at 5 miles per hour; they gave him the sensation of an oncoming headache. He never would have guessed that New York would be a place he would frequent, but here he was. Sitting adjacent to the Philidor Holdings L.L.C. Headquarters. He had walked in the front door many times over the year for meetings with their Vice President J. Howard de Witt. This time, however, Shaw hoped that the VP would not casually stroll by and see Shaw seated nearby.
This was in response to a note that Shaw had received. Signed X, although Shaw was almost certain he recognized the handwriting. He had received nothing but dead ends and stone walls when asking for answers about Samson Saltair; despite all the dirty work he had done for the VP, it was a subject he was never willing to speak on. Either not willing or not allowed; Shaw couldn’t tell.
A second note had arrived at his house in Boston 2 weeks ago, giving him a date, time and location. Unsurprisingly the location was PH HQ. As his mind wandered and his eyes traced the buildings around him, a gentleman had quietly sat down beside him. Shaw gave him nothing more than a slight side-glance, knowing it appropriate to only be able to enjoy a bench by yourself for a rough 2 minute timespan in New York City before somebody was going to join you on the pine.
Shaw unfolded the note from his pocket and looked at it again, checking to make sure it said 7:30 PM and not AM. He had checked this detail 4 times already; a nervous tick perhaps. If this was a true opportunity and if these letters were coming from the person he thought they were, this was not a chance he wanted to miss. He might finally get an answer to the question he had been asking since the dawn of his Philidor involvement: Who is Samson Saltair?
“He’s ready to see you now.” the voice said softly from beside Shaw. Guess this guy wasn’t so random. Shaw cocked a brow, looking the man up and down quickly, noticing the PH decal on the wrist cuff of his trench coat. The man got up and slowly began to cross the street, Shaw jumping to his feet without a second thought and following the stranger.
They walked around the left side of the building, the front door leaving sight immediately, as Shaw quickly grew uncertain about his fate.
“Wh-...” Shaw started to ask a question, but he had learned when to do that. This was not one of those times.
They circled the building and entered the far side of an alleyway, 5 stairs leading down to a steel door. The quiet man hopped down the stairs, blocked a keypad with his body while punching in a few numbers, and swung the door open, being sure to enter first. Shaw followed quickly and almost bumped into the man immediately, as he stopped at a door directly to the left of the entryway. Shaw snuck between the man and the concrete wall, being sure to let the door close behind them.
The quiet man stuck a key from his pocket into a lock, opening yet another door that led towards more stairs. Down they went, entering what felt like the belly of the New York City beast. The building no longer felt at all attached to the same walls that housed the office of the Vice President that Shaw had visited so frequently.
This was something else entirely.
Please don’t be Saltair, please don’t be Saltair. The thought started racing through Shaw’s mind, wondering if this would be the place that he would die for asking too many questions.
At the bottom of the deep staircase, a spacious room awaited. Surrounded by concrete and unfinished walls, a few boxes were left there to give the room just enough purpose for ‘storage’. At quick glance, Shaw noticed one of the boxes had ‘1994’ written on it in faded permanent marker.
“Shaw,” a voice said from the unsettling shadow of the far corner. The voice was immediately recognizable, way more so than a guess at handwriting. That British accent was unmistakable.
Peter Garvey stepped from the corner.
“Mr. Garvey…” Shaw said hesitantly in response. Garvey simply nodded to the man who had accompanied Shaw, the man taking it as a quick cue to leave the room. He did, going right back up the stairs and leaving the two Philidor men in the room together.
“I thought it was your handwriting. What are you doing, Garvey? Is this a trap? Look, look, I’m sorry if I pried too much, Mr. de Witt always promised me answers, just not answers to the questions I wanted to ask. I-”
“Knock ‘et off, Shaw. Yah safe. I’m ‘ear to give ‘yuh your answer, don’t be snide.” His voice was steady, but Shaw could see in his eyes that even he was unsure of what he was doing. Or, atleast, why he was doing it. Shaw breathed in deep, stopped his backtrack and put his faith in Garvey’s intentions. He looked forward confidently, looked Peter Garvey right in the eye and asked…
“What is Samson Saltair?”
Who could have ever dreamed up a fictional world where Carter Shaw would be defending the AW World Championship against Dandy DiVito, with Kyle Kemp standing in the shadows with the All-In briefcase? It’s fuckin’ beautiful.
It’s too bad Kyle Kemp has an All-In predecessor that had such precision with his decisions. Now, no matter what Kemp does with that briefcase, it will pale in comparison to my ‘reign’, my cash-in and my success. No matter what. Who’s following who now, Mr. Kemp? I earned every last ounce of anything that came out of that All-In contract, from climbing that ladder to winning the main event of Evolution.
But yet. It seems all you have to do these days to get yourself in that World Title match is gently bully the General Manager. I mean, that’s what Spencer Adams did, right? That’s what EVERYBODY at Uprising did, right? Let’s not even bother addressing Corey Black booking HIMSELF into the title match again. Only fuckin’ person that earned their spot to stand across a ring from me to vie for my gold has been Corey Bull, and he did so by beating CruiserClash guys. No offense, CruiserClash is awesome, but Bull is a 7 foot tall psychopath.
And here comes Dandy...dick swingin’ through his sweatpants, sad that his hands are empty after finally losing the Tag Titles, and what does he do? Tells Pasternak he’s next. He doesn’t ask for an opportunity, he doesn’t request a chance to become #1 Contender. He tells our G.M. that it’s his turn. I had to stand up for some goddamn semblance of integrity for the standing of my World Championship and tell our boss how to do his job. So Dandy and Kemp happened at my request, and Dandy didn’t even get himself a clean, no-questions-asked victory by the way as the vicious Jill Park served Kyle Kemp to him on a silver platter.
Dandy saying “I’m next.”...man. Just another desperate claw at relevance. Yes, we know how long that Tag Title stayed around your waist, Dandy. But yet, the moment that floor falls out from under you, you know you’re just one classic DD step away from rock bottom. We’ve seen it before. Ironically, it was me that started that downfall too, wasn’t it?
It’s not a desperate claw to be relevant. It’s the desperate claw to stay relevant. Nobody here is struggling to notice Dandy DiVito. He’s an Action Original! But the steps you’ve made over the last year don’t even feel like you’re trying to win anymore, it feels like you’re trying not to lose.
Joining Kyle Kemp to represent another incarnation of The Following was like riding a life boat towards the Titanic. The amount of times Dandy has called me out for moral bankruptcy for my Philidor sponsorship and involvement is your textbook, Marriam-Webster hypocrisy. Selling out is all Dandy has done ever since he had that 85-day long taste of what it was like to sit atop the mountain. All he has done is find some variety of way to sell himself out. He’s not some stand alone rebel of the system. He’s not the man who is capable of ‘bringing it all down’, not by himself atleast.
No. Dandy, over the course of the last 2 years, is nothing but a wickless candle. All wax, no flame. Ever since Lissie Hope snuffed him out in November 2019.
You can’t and will never be that again. THAT was your crop of talent to reign over. And there was no better face to end that World Title reign of yours than Lissie Hope, because she was the first face of many that were going to wave at you on their way past. And now you’re just showing just how much of a glutton for punishment you are. Alot has changed since Dice Roll. Your surroundings have changed, as you can no longer rely on that good ole 5$ Minnesota Handie special. You no longer have a ‘squad’ to prep with or strategize with. Me? Not much has changed for me.
Well, other than being your AW World Champion, ofcourse.
But there are three things that haven’t changed. The only three fuckin’ guarentees in life.
Death.
Taxes.
Shaw Beats Dandy.
This time, by way of a bloody uppercut while Dandy continues to be obsessed with putting his penis in my mouth for some reason. But in the end, you can finally put your daddy issues to bed with the beautiful new reality you’ll be forced to accept.
I AM YOUR DADDY, DANDY. And hell, you might not be the only one...just ask Yaz.
How many times are you gonna ask to fail? I do appreciate that the stage on which I get to beat your ass has gotten bigger with each meeting. From hidden Clash gems...to a Pay Per View I got to produce on behalf of Philidor Holdings...to a World Championship match at Execution. It’s just a bigger spotlight each and every time, and that spotlight keeps revealing the same damn thing.
Shaw Beats Dandy.
You’re still not the good guy here, DiVito. You’re no hero stepping up to the plate, tryin’ to knock Philidor down a peg. That’s been a mission that you’ve all set upon for over a YEAR and have failed. It’s, incidentally, only propelled us higher each and every time someone like you, someone like Spencer Adams, someone like Johnny Bacchus, tries to tear us down. All you do is trip before the finish line and give someone like me yet another back to stand on.
Fate doesn’t change at Execution. These are all chapters of the same book, we haven’t reached the back binding yet. I’m not done evolving my story and you of all people CERTAINLY will not end this story as the hero. You’ll get what you really want, Dandy. The amount of times you tell me to suck your dick?
I’ll grant you the image of standing over you. Dandy flat on his back, so dazed and confused it’s like he took a sweet pill to get that high. Shaw standing over him, looking down at another Dandy defeat before looking up at yet another triumphant raise of the AW World Championship title.
You can take that moment, captured in an image, and jerk off to it alone while recuperating from the match alone, because just like winning the World Championship?
As long as I’m holding it, this is as close as you’re going to get to what you want.
This First Blood match is not the stipulation that I was looking for to put the final nail in your coffin, but I think it’s better this way. As badly as I want to end you every time I look into your lifeless eyes, I think it’s best I keep you around. Because I sure do enjoy the carousel of you popping back up, thinking you’ve re-tooled yourself enough to beat me.
It ain’t great for your career, but sure is great for mine.
I appreciate your sacrifice.
They walked down a 3rd flight of stairs, these ones simple steel as the audible clanking of their boots reverberated off the walls; closing in a bit with each descending level. This level was more like a boiler room, as there was some hissing coming from a large tank stashed against the far wall. Shaw’s eyes roamed as if he were on a tour of a cave.
“W’in Philido’ b’ilt the HQ ‘ear, everythin’ ya see was already ‘ear.” Garvey speaks, softly, as if the walls could hear him. As if they were being watched.
“What the hell did they build on top of?” Shaw asked, responding in a whisper in case it was necessary.
“Exactly.”
Shaw did a double take at the back of Garvey’s head as they found themselves at the top of yet another staircase. They descended once more into a final room. Large and empty. The floor grew a bit slippery from sitting humidity. There was a bit of a smell, a faint sulfur in the air. On the South side of the room, the wall was no longer well-placed cement blocks or mortar.
They were large rocks; boulders; a poor attempt to cover a large hole in the wall. Shaw leaned in a bit, but didn’t dare step any closer then Garvey already had. Garvey turned around and faced Carter for the first time, looking up to the top corners of the room before locking eyes.
“Who is Saltair, Garvey? Why are we down here? Wh-...How are there so many levels to this damn building, this is crazy.”
“Saltair is you, Shaw. Saltair is me. Saltair is e’ry bit of humanity you’ve eva known. All tha while not really bein’ human at’all. This is where ‘e came frum.”
Garvey slowly points towards the ‘covered’ whole in the wall. Shaw is beyond confused. He goes to step closer to the hole, but Garvey puts an arm out and stops him.
“What are we talkin’ here, Garvey? Like a...portal to hell or some shit? What is this, The Exorcist?”
“Dunno, Shaw. Noone really knows the ansa’ to that one. I tell ya’ this much, tho’. Samson Saltair is tha reason Philido’ has its powa’. Because Saltair presents in tha’ shape of a human, but he ain’t. He’s everything but. And Philidor found ‘im here. Harnessed the powa’ sorta speak, tha’ way you’d leash an attack dog. Tha powa’ goes both ways.”
“This is all...this is very confusing. So Mr. Saltair is...not human? What the hell have I been working for? What the hell have you been partnered with?”
“My allegiance to Saltair is chained ta’ knowin’ that he could kill all of us at ‘uh moment’s notice. Bringin’ you down here, Shaw? Tellin’ ya this? I’m putin’ mah ‘ead on tha’ guillotine, but ya dun mo’ than enough to earn some actual answas’.”
Shaw was speechless. All of the context clues were there. The power and the respect. What felt like an all-seeing eye filled with a calm fire. The question of “Who is Samson Saltair” was off the table, although Shaw had already gotten that sense. But this explained why the VP tensed up as Shaw kept asking questions, even Ash Blake would shut down the topic of conversation immediately. And Garvey? Garvey was always at Saltair’s side until he had begun to always be at Shaw’s side in operation.
“I...so, is Saltair in charge?”
“No.”
“Who is in charge of Saltair?”
“Nobody.”
“You’re not?”
Garvey lets a laugh slip through his lips.
“No. I keep ‘im grounded. Just like the relationship ‘tween yah and Philido’, Shaw. It’s symbiotic. Nobody’s handlin’ anyone. It’s all ‘bout an attempt at checks and balances.”
“And you...have checks and balances with a demon.”
“I dunno I wud use that word.”
“Who all knows about this?”
“Oh’, I’d say 5 o’us.”
“Ash?”
“She knows enough.”
Shaw accepted the vague answer.
“Ya gotta keep ya’ role in check, Shaw. They sponsored ya’. All ya’ had ta’ do is tow tha’ company line and keep ya’ eyes forward.”
“...anybody ever go into that hole?” Garvey smirks at Shaw’s question, with a slow shake of the head. Shaw looks at it. He couldn’t tell if he felt energy coming from it, or if he was just projecting such a sensation onto himself.
“Us bein’ down here? Could get us both killed, Shaw, just know that.”
“I feel like I have more questions than answers.”
“You know whatcha needed ta’ know. Accept it. The more ya’ dig, Shaw, the more it’s ya own grave. I tell ya’ this cause I like ya’. I respect ya’.”
“What if we put Saltair back in?”
Garvey’s face grows serious, almost angry, as he steps into Shaw’s face.
“Don’tcha fuckin’ say that. Ya watched too many movies, Shaw.” As he speaks, his eyes unlock from Shaw’s and roam the room. A silent way of saying you’re being listened to.
“I work for a demon. I work for the Devil, that’s what you’re telling me.”
Shaw can’t even comprehend the words coming out of his own mouth.
“Nah, you work WIT‘im. Important distinction to remember. But ‘is also important to remember what you’re dealin’ wit’. This? This is where it all began. And e’rythin’ that happened after? All stemmed from Philido’ Holdin’s finding Samson Saltair down ‘ear. There’s the best answa’ ya gonna get, Shaw.”
Shaw rubbed at his eyebrows. He felt weightless, as if he were in a dream, his subconscious giving him realistic warnings about Saltair.
It didn’t feel real. How was this real?
All Shaw wanted to do was to run forward, pull the rocks out of his way and enter the darkness...just to see if he would ever come out.
Shaw always thought New York City was a hellhole.