Clyde Sutter vs. Shaun Cruze

[Konrad Raab]

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: WEDNESDAY, December 17, 2025 at 11:59:59 pm ET (NOTE THE DEADLINE – this is for both shows)

[Owen]

PREVIOUSLY…OFF CAMERA

(Shaun sits with his head bowed, a towel over his head, breathing heavily after his exertions. He’d got the finale he had wanted and finished his career in the way he had wanted, and right now his body was telling him that the time was right. Occasionally, someone walks past, congratulating him on his victory, but he remains underneath the confines of the towel, really engaging himself in this moment, drinking it in. He wasn’t listening, however, to the noise from the capacity crowd, knowing that this would be the final time this would happen, the last opportunity for himself experiences a career that had been so good for him. In truth, the only thing he believed he was truly good at. Of course, he’d had businesses, but factually it was others who had made him his money. He’d been an ‘ok’ actor, though you wouldn’t get many to agree. But it was here, in the depths of an arena, where he had truly felt alive, and now that would soon be over forever, and he couldn’t help but have at least a minimal amount of sadness. He finally pulls the towel from his head, revealing for the first time that he is grinning from ear to ear. He chuckles to himself, knowing that Konrad Raab would be raging… and yet couldn’t do a thing about it. He’d miss that too… knowing that he had proven a point yet again. As finales went, it was up there with Owen walking away as World and United States Champion.)

“Looked good out there Unc.”

(Shaun turns his head to face his nephew Owen, who had made a point of being here, having been through this himself, and how difficult it had been for him to walk away.)

Owen: I mean, I think we all knew you’d beat Konrad, but with his goons around, you could never be sure.

Shaun: Hey, it was tough, take nothing away from Konrad, the old man can still go. But yeah, it felt good. And at Rise to Greatness as well… perfect end.

Owen: And the perfect impact… pun intended

(It was a reference to Shaun and Kelcey’s tag team for a long-gone era. Shaun still stayed in touch with Kelcey, but he’d always loved her being around.)

Shaun: Proper historian, aren’t you? Doubt anyone even remembers us guys.

Owen: Don’t be daft, this place won’t be the same without a Cruze running around. Dad will be looking down with a smile, I know it. But the Cruze legacy is over now, the business will have to go on without us.

Shaun: I’m sure they will be fine.

(Owen nods, SCW had been around before them, and it would exist without, there was an inevitable certainty in that. But the Cruze family would never been forgotten, they had all made sure of that.)

Owen: So, is that it then, all loose ends tied up?

Shaun: Yeah, contract will be terminated at midnight tonight, and then tomorrow morning I’ll do the final handover to Blake for Impact Media. Come tomorrow night, I’ll be like you, a man of leisure and get to spend time with my family. And I have you to thank for that

Owen: Me? Why?

Shaun: For giving me the inspiration to walk away from all of it. It wasn’t easy, but seeing how happy you are, it made me realize it would be the right thing to do for me. If you hadn’t, I’d still be stressing about the next movie, or what the next subject of a documentary was going to be. Going forwards, I’ll only need to look out for my family instead of so many staff. Can’t wait.

Owen: And what about this?

Shaun: What, wrestling?

Owen: Yeah.

Shaun: I was just thinking, other than being a Dad, it is literally the only thing I’ve ever been good at. With Impact Media, and Acting, I always had someone helping me, but here it was always all on me. But yeah, since Taking Hold of the Flame I’ve felt more like fifty than my actual age, and if I carry on, someone will eventually do what Konrad couldn’t and perhaps cause me permanent injury. I don’t want to be a burden on Angyalka, especially since she had supported me through everything. I want to be a proper Dad to Dorothea instead of just being on edge all the time with all the responsibilities. I love wrestling, I love competing, and you know what, I’m fucking good at it. But you’ve got to weigh these things up, and walking away is the right thing to do.

Owen: Totally agree. And it’s not like you need the money.

(Shaun laughs)

Shaun: Yeah, I reckon I’ll be ok. One bottle of Jack Daniels a week instead of two

(They both laugh, turning as Chris Clay walks in. Chris was a private investigator who had done a lot of work for the Cruze family in the past and had been given a priority seat by Shaun as a thank you. He doesn’t have the look of a man who has been enjoying the show however and instead has a serious look on his face. Owen offers a fist bump which Chris obliges, never taking his eyes off Shaun, which Shaun recognizes.)

Shaun: You ok bro… I wasn’t that bad out there, was I?

Chris Clay: Could I have a word… in private.

(He turns to Owen, who then looks at Shaun.)

Owen: Hint taken… I’ll go take in the rest of the show. Find me once you’re done?

Shaun: Of course.

(Owen leaves the dressing room, Chris closing the door behind him without a single word.)

Shaun: What’s going on Chris?

(Chris still doesn’t speak and sits down on the same bench Shaun is sitting on.)

Shaun: Well, this isn’t concerning enough.

(Chris pulls his mobile phone from his pocket and holds it on his lap face down.)

Chris Clay: Sorry man, I know you are probably on a high right now, but this couldn’t wait.

Shaun: OK, so what’s going on?

(Chris takes a deep breath before continuing.)

Chris Clay: Recently I took a case, a husband who believed his wife was having an affair.

Shaun: OK

(Chris doesn’t even smirk, which unnerves Shaun still further.)

Chris Clay: So, I did the usual, followed her around, and for a while, nothing was particularly suspicious. I was just about to give up and report back, when I followed her to a restaurant, where she met up with a man.

(Chris takes another breath, before turning the phone over and showing Shaun a picture, Shaun’s eyes widening before he takes a closer look. He then looks at Chris, as if looking for confirmation of what he was looking at. )

Chris Clay: I’m sorry Shaun, but there is no mistake. That’s you, isn’t it?

(For a moment Shaun looks confused, ready to question whether it is or not. He takes hold of the phone and stares at it intently, there was no question, it was him and there was no getting away from it. He passes the phone back to Chris and eventually he manages to find the words he wanted to say.)

Shaun: There is a perfectly innocent explanation for this.

(Without saying a word, Chris scrolls through his screen, obviously hating that he was having to do this. He finds what he is looking for, before passing the phone bac to Shaun.)

Chris Clay: Press play…

(Shaun looks at the still image of a car and does what he is told. He watches as Shaun and the woman get out of the car, pausing for a moment before sharing a kiss, the kiss of a pair that were much more than friends and certainly not in the slightest innocent. He doesn’t want to but feels compelled to keep watching as they walk up to a motel room and go inside. At this point he has seen enough, not wanting to know what Chris had captured next. He hands the phone back and shakes his head.)

Shaun: Fuck

(Chris puts his phone away, understanding his friends’ emotions.)

Chris Clay: I’m sorry bro. I don’t know what you plan to do with this, but I’ll hold off on telling the husband to give you time to get your head around it and decide what you want to do. But I’ve got to tell him what’s going on, you know that right?

Shaun: I appreciate that… but what AM I going to do?

Chris Clay: I don’t know bud; I just do my job… there’s a reason I don’t give relationship advice. If you’ve made a mistake, then I suggest getting ahead of it and telling Angyalka the truth. But if you have feelings for her… well, that’s a totally different scenario. You’ve got a child, and no matter how you go about it, this doesn’t end well for you.

(Shaun sits in silence, feeling like he already knew how this was going to end for him. It was all on him, and he’d made a huge mistake and that stung. Worst still, he knew full well how Angyalka would react, and it still hadn’t stopped him from committing adultery. Once again, wrestling had exposed a Cruze marriage, the exact reason why Owen had walked away. Shaun had made his decision too late… and already knew that he had to take the entirety of the blame if their marriage was over.)

RECORDING…ON CAMERA

“They always come back.”

(Shaun appears on screen, his face covered in a stubble that didn’t seem to have been well kept, a tee shirt, jeans and a pair of scuffed trainers his attire of choice. He greets the camera with what could pass a smile but isn’t totally convincing.)

“That’s the belief, isn’t it? People walk away from this company but except for the few, they always make their surprise return months later, the lure of the lights bringing them back. It’s become one of this companies cliches that no one ever really retires, they just have a rest, recharge the batteries and then step back front and center, looking to claim former glories.”

(Shaun leans forwards and clasps his hands in front of him.)

“That is going to be the inevitable narrative that will surround me in these coming months. Orlando retired and came back three times, even swapping companies on one of those occasions. Owen even went away for a while but then came back to try and claim back some of the respect he lost when he walked away. I’ve gone away before, twice I think for varying reasons, but this time I was certain it was over. After almost winning Taking Hold of the Flame and then beating Konrad Raab, I was ready to leave it all behind. Let me make it clear, I haven’t come back because I want to. I haven’t come back to claim former glories, though I hope I am still capable. I’ve not even come back to put down a former rival or end a long-standing grudge. I’m here and back in Supreme Championship Wrestling for one reason, and one reason alone. I NEED to, because without it, I may as well not even exist. The Shaun Cruze you knew, the media mogul who literally seemed to have it all is no more. I compete now, quite simply in the same way I did when I first started. I MUST, or else it is ALL truly over.”

(He takes a deep breath before he continues, composing himself for what would come next.)

“I know right, all a little mysterious. I could just come out and say it, explain in full just how far the once mighty has fallen. It would be ever so easy for me to pull on the emotional strings of the SCW fanbase, and filter off all the sympathy I can muster, but that just isn’t me. I’m not going to come out here and bear my soul to everyone, nor do I expect people to not have opinions or make guesses as to how the last two years have changed who I am. Quite simply, I am here to compete. I am here to win matches and climb that ladder once again. I am here out of necessity. It wasn’t easy, persuading the management here to take a chance on me. I understand that CHBK has taken a risk, putting me back on a roster that has moved on from the Cruze family who are now nothing more than a distant, perhaps fond for some memory. Being back, is like getting your hands on one of those fluffy fleece blankets that come out when Winter starts to draw in. Stepping back into a SCW ring, feels like returning home, after what seems like a lifetime away. Like I say, I needed this. I wanted this. I couldn’t continue without that security that those three initials bring. Maybe, one day I will tell my story. Perhaps if I can stabilize this bullshit that has become my life, I will be able to put into words just how it went so wrong. I reiterate, with respect, to keep your sympathy, I don’t want, nor do I ask for it. My name, quite rightly, doesn’t mean a damn thing to the people that have kept this company thriving while I’ve been away. All I want to do is be left alone, to begin again, to be given the time to do exactly that. To stand at the bottom of that ladder, looking up at all those that have deservedly paid their dues, knowing that the only way to move forwards, both personally, and professionally is by stepping over each and everyone of them as I make my way back to the top. Because I literally have no choice to do exactly that.”

(He becomes aware that he has stepped right back into functioning in front of a camera even though it had been a while since he had. He had stopped short of explaining in full but didn’t want people to think he was just like everyone else and had gone back on his word. It wasn’t like it was a secret anyway, a simple search on the Internet would at least give people clues. But he didn’t want that to be the focus, he wanted his story to be about the man who once again climbed the mountain and reached the top, reclaiming more than just a symbolic championship, claiming his life back at the same time. He wanted people to talk about him again, but for the right reasons. Those were his goals, and he was going to achieve them, turning it all around.)

“So, I guess the question has to be, am I still capable?”

(A shrug of the shoulders makes his opinion clear.)

“And the answer to that is, I simply don’t know. It seems very familiar, doesn’t it? For me to be saying I’m not sure I’m still able to compete, because I was saying the same things prior to Taking Hold of the Flame, and we all know how that panned out. I wasn’t disappointed not winning, coming top ten against a bunch of people who will in their prime showed me I could still go. In my mind, I’m still the same guy that claimed the World Championship, way back whenever it was. When I look at myself in the mirror, I’m still the same man who strived to instill a sense of morality into everything I ever did. Everything you have heard from me thus far, and may in the future, hasn’t dampened my desire for a business that made me. In fact, if anything, the desire is even greater than it was before. It’s no longer just about becoming a World Champion for the first time since 2014. Eleven years, wow. It’s about being able to step into any room, and say hey, I’m Shaun Cruze. And instead of being ashamed of what I became and proud of the fact I came through.

Better than I ever was.

Let me make it clear to everyone right now, and especially my opponent on Breakdown. Even after everything I have said, no matter how it seems, I’m not coming back to Supreme Championship Wrestling as cannon fodder, or to be dragged out to romanticize this company’s story. I’ve spoken of a needs must yes, but don’t consider me weak, or someone that is going to allow individuals to make a name off the back of defeating me. I’m not a mug returning when I’m way past my sell-by date. I can still do this and be better than most. The question is, can I come back, and be better than what is one of the most talented rosters in the world. And that is one heck of a question to try and answer, because it is over a decade since I stood atop this company as its World Champion. Eleven years ago, the Impact Player ruled the roost. So much has changed in that time, competitors have come and gone. But there is one thing that remains true. The one thing that will carry me forwards, till I once again achieve those goals. NO ONE can match my heart. VERY FEW can match my courage. And when you put that together with the fact I have proven my wrestling skill time and time again, it’s clear. I CAN do this. I WILL do this. I’ll do this for myself, and for Supreme Championship Wrestling, who when asked, took the chance on me once again. There will be detractors, and there will be those who dismiss, but when all is said and done, it will be they who look foolish, not me. The only person who I need to prove all of this to is myself, the rest of it will all fall into place given time. When all is said and done, and I return to my rightful place, there is one thing that will be certain.

Once again… you WILL know, MY name.”

(Shaun nods towards the camera, determined and ready. The scene then slowly fades.)

[The Assassin]

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December 2nd, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
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The restaurant occupied the top floor of a converted Georgian townhouse in Mayfair, its tall sash windows looking out over a rain-slicked Berkeley Square where the plane trees dripped steadily onto the roofs of black cabs. Inside, the room felt like a hushed conspiracy of velvet and candlelight. Crystal chandeliers hung low enough that their prisms scattered tiny rainbows across the white linen tablecloths whenever someone passed beneath them. The walls were paneled in dark walnut, the kind of wood that had absorbed decades of cigar smoke and whispered deals, and between the panels hung vast gold-framed oils of long-dead aristocrats who seemed to watch the diners with the weary tolerance of people who had seen every human folly at least twice. Clyde Sutter sat with his back to the room, facing the windows so that the cold silver light from outside carved sharp shadows across his face. He was tall enough that even seated he seemed to take up more than his share of space, shoulders broad beneath the charcoal wool of his suit jacket, the collar of his black shirt open just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo that disappeared beneath the fabric. His hair, black and straight and a little too long, was pushed back from his forehead as though he’d run his hands through it too many times already tonight. He held a glass of red wine but hadn’t drunk from it in ten minutes; instead he turned the stem slowly between his fingers, watching the liquid cling to the sides of the bowl like blood that refused to fall.

Across from him, Melinda Braddock looked as though she had been cut from winter sunlight. Her hair, the pale gold of ripe wheat, was swept up in a loose twist that let a few fine strands escape to brush the nape of her neck. She wore a sleeveless dress the color of midnight water, simple but expensive, the kind of dress that relied entirely on the wearer’s bone structure to keep it from looking ordinary. A single string of pearls rested against her collarbones, rising and falling with each careful breath. Her hands were folded in her lap now, but every so often her right thumb worried at the emerald on her left ring finger, an unconscious habit she probably didn’t realize she had. The table between them had been set for three. The third chair waited like an accusation, its brocade cushion still perfectly smooth, the napkin folded into an elaborate bishop’s miter that no one had dared disturb. A small arrangement of white roses and eucalyptus sat in the center, the flowers so fresh that droplets still clung to their petals, catching the candlelight in trembling prisms. Silverware glinted. Water glasses sparkled. Everything was flawless, and everything felt wrong. From somewhere deeper in the restaurant came the low murmurs of conversation, the delicate clink of cutlery against porcelain, the occasional ripple of polite laughter that never quite reached the eyes. Waiters in black waistcoats moved between the tables with the silent efficiency of people who understood that their job was to be invisible until required.

Clyde’s gaze flicked toward the entrance for the third time in as many minutes. The maître d’ stood there beneath a crystal sconce, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of serene authority, but even he seemed to sense the tension at table nine. Melinda noticed the glance and her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. She reached for her own wine and took a sip that was more fortification than pleasure.

“Clyde…” Melinda whispered “...you’re making me nervous.”

“There is good reason to be nervous, my love.” He remarks cooly. “This is my sister we are dealing with.”

“Yes, I know.” Melinda sighs. “I’m not exactly pleased with this idea, myself, but it was YOUR idea. Besides, don’t you trust in Fate?”

Even The Assassin cannot help but laugh and even admire how his lovely fiance threw his belief in Fate right back in his face. He nods his head in agreement.

“Too true, my love. Still, even with the confirmation that Fate is in control, it does not make this particular evening any less troublesome. Do you think Mr. Cruze will look forward to what Fate has in store for him at Shattered Reality?”

“Shaun Cruze is a fool and he doesn’t believe in Fate.” Melinda remarks.

“If he did he would be terrified, and rightfully so, because Fate has written in the stars that I shall end his miraculous comeback before it can even begin.”

“But he’s not afraid because Shaun Cruze is ignorant to Fate.” Melinda says. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss. So babe, instead of worrying yourself to death and, in turn making me a nervous wreck, why don’t you try being a little ignorant just this one time, huh?”

“You mean pretend as if my sister isn’t some dangerous criminal who could easily have lured us into a trap this evening?”

“Yes. Exactly. Let’s pretend that!” Melinda nods her head.

“Very well.” Clyde takes a sip of his wine. “Ignorance is bliss.”

Outside the windows, London continued its evening performance: headlights sliding along wet asphalt, umbrellas blooming and folding like black flowers, red double-decker buses shouldering through the rain with imperial indifference. Big Ben tolled the half hour somewhere in the distance, the sound muffled by the glass and the rain and the thick walls of money that surrounded them. Inside, the minute hand on the ormolu clock above the fireplace crept forward with excruciating patience. They had arrived twenty minutes early. Now the early arrival felt like a mistake. Every second stretched, elastic and unbearable. The air between them carried the faint scent of Melinda’s perfume and the sharper note of Clyde’s cologne, cedar and black pepper, undercut now by something metallic that might have been nerves.

Melinda set her glass down with deliberate care, the base making only the softest click against the linen. She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the cloth, then let her hand fall back to her lap. Clyde watched the motion, then looked away again, out at the rain. His jaw flexed once, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave away that morning. The third wine glass waited, empty and expectant. The third plate gleamed. The third chair sat empty, but not for much longer. Somewhere near the entrance, the maître d’ inclined his head to a newcomer just stepping out of the lift, shaking droplets from an umbrella. Clyde saw it first. His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. Melinda followed his gaze, and for a moment her face went very still, as though someone had pressed pause on her heartbeat. The rain kept falling. The quartet played on. And in the warm, moneyed hush of the restaurant, the temperature at table nine seemed to drop several degrees all at once.

Then she arrived.

Lilith Sutter stepped out as though the restaurant had been waiting for her all evening and had only just remembered how to breathe once she arrived. She moved with the unhurried certainty of someone who had never needed to ask permission for anything in her life. Tall, almost as tall as Clyde in her heels, she wore a black silk blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers the color of wet ink, cut sharp enough to look weaponized. A long camel coat hung open over her shoulders, its hem brushing the backs of her calves with every step. The coat alone probably cost more than most people’s rent, but she wore it like something she’d thrown on because the night air had teeth. Her hair was the same unrelenting black as her brother’s, but where Clyde’s was simply long and a little wild, Lilith’s was disciplined into a low, sleek knot at the nape of her neck, every strand obedient. The style exposed the clean architecture of her skull, the dramatic hollows beneath cheekbones that could have been carved with a scalpel. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the chandeliers, made the deep red of her mouth look like a fresh wound. A single diamond stud glinted in one ear; the other lobe was bare, as if she’d decided symmetry was for people who still had something to prove.

“That devil…” Clyde remarks under his breath.

“Your sister.” Melinda snickers.

She paused just beyond the velvet rope, letting the maître d’ take her coat without looking at him. As the heavy cashmere slid from her shoulders, the room seemed to recalibrate around her. Conversations didn’t stop, exactly, but they thinned, voices lowering half an octave, the way animals quiet when a larger predator passes through the tall grass. Even the quartet faltered for a single bar before recovering. Lilith’s gaze swept the dining room once, clinical, proprietary, then settled on the table where her brother and Melinda were seated. A faint curve touched her lips, not quite a smile, more the acknowledgement a cat gives a mouse that has foolishly decided to stop running. She started forward. When she reached the table, she did not pull out the waiting chair. She simply stood behind it, one manicured hand resting lightly on the back, the other holding a slim black clutch that looked capable of hiding either a lipstick or a garrote. For a long moment she studied them both, head tilted a fraction, as if she were cataloging new bruises on old toys. Then, with the fluid inevitability of dark water filling a mold, she sat.

“You are late.” Clyde’s remark is pointed and cold. No emotion with the exception of, perhaps, a little bit of annoyance.

“My apologies.” She says nonchalantly. “Traffic was horrid.”

“You! Were! Late!” Clyde’s frustration is beginning to boil over. It startles Melinda because she has seen him at his worst. Lilith, for whatever reason, doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

“Like I said, traffic was horrid.”

“Lilith, you wanted this meeting. You have wanted me right here and now for a very long time. To get me here you have harassed me to no end. You offended my future wife! You put a hit out on her ex-boyfriend! You destroyed my friendship with Joey! You even tried to get to me through my uncle, through Mason Van Stanton!”

“What can I say?” Lilith chuckles softly. “I enjoy a good game.”

“This is not a game!” Clyde shouts which gets the attention of other patrons. Melinda is startled. Lilith wags her finger at him, tauntingly.

“Careful, dear brother. You will get us thrown out.”

Clyde Sutter’s anger and rage is at its tipping point. Melinda Braddock senses this and quickly speaks up.

“Look, what Clyde is trying to say is that you never did endear yourself to us. We have no reason to trust you let alone give you this meeting that you demanded. Yet here we are and you could have had the decency to be on time.”

“You are correct and I do apologize.” She answers. “This meeting was my idea and here I am, late to my own party. How many times must I say it?  I apologize.”

Melinda Braddock looks at her fiance. The Assassin is still angry but she can tell he has it under control now, so she remains quiet and lets him take over the conversation.

“Just get to the point, sister. What do you want?”

“Perhaps I should ask you?” Lilith grins. “What is it that you think I want, dear brother?”

“I believe the answer to that is quite obvious.” Clyde says cooly. “You want me to join with you in your life of crime.” He shakes his head. “It will never happen. I have left that life.”

“YOUR life of crime was relegated to petty street crimes, dear brother, while I ran a powerful criminal organization.” She snickers. “We are not the same. I offered you that power and you turned me down. I was disappointed at first but my exile in Russia taught me a few things; namely, that you will never turn back to crime and rule by my side the way I had hoped.”

“Good. Perhaps it is possible to get something through that thick head of yours after all?” The Assassin’s words cut through Lilith. Again, Lilith is not bothered.

“I still want you to join me, Clyde.” She states. “Going forward, my entire organization will be legitimate. I am…how is it that your street rat friend Joey would likely put it…I am going straight.”

“I find that claim highly dubious.” Melinda chimes in quickly. “Like Clyde said, YOU ordered the hit on Archie!”

“The boy you were going to marry before you reunited with my brother?” Lilith sighs and nods her head. “Yes, yes I did that.”

“And you almost killed me in the process!”

“You were not the target.” Lilith states. “Before you go and say something you shouldn’t, Ms. Braddock, know that I have given my brother a peace offering. I punished Mason Van Stanton for the crimes he committed against my brother. I will give you the same peace offering. Anything you want, name it, and I will give it to you.”

“There’s nothing I want from you.” Melinda snaps.

“Oh but everyone wants something.” Lilith winks. “Just think about it. You don’t have to tell me tonight.”

“My beloved has a point.” Clyde states. “Your claims are dubious. You may say that you are going straight…but legally doesn’t always mean the same thing as ethically.”

“What a bright boy you are!” Lilith exclaims. “You are correct, dear brother, just because my organization’s actions will be legal going forward does not mean they will be ethical.”

“So have you truly changed?”

“Have you changed?” Lilith points a finger at Clyde. “Are you little mister ethical? You may not be the raging monster that once abused ‘your beloved’ over there, but how did you get the money to pay for the psychiatric help that you needed to get that rage under control?  Oh yes, that’s right, you were…and still are…the hired muscle for The Page Family of professional wrestling. In SCW you were the hired muscle for The Fall of Man. In another organization you and Melinda here broke a man’s leg just because you could.” Lilith smirks knowingly. “Yes, it was within the confines of professional wrestling, so it wasn’t illegal, but was it ethical to break that man’s leg?  Is it ethical to do the dirty work for the Page family or The Fall of Man?”

“No…” The Assassin hates to admit it but his sister is right. He may be on the right side of the law now but he is hardly an upright individual. Melinda isn’t sure she likes how this conversation is going she looks at Clyde, then at Lilith, then back at Clyde again. Lilith just snickers.

“What is it that you want?” Melinda asks.

“I am not asking for my brother to help me pull off any crimes. I am not even asking him to join me as I attempt to take my organization and make it legitimate. I merely want one thing,” she holds up one finger, “I want a relationship with my brother. I want to wipe the slate clean and start fresh.”

[Owen]

PREVIOUSLY…OFF CAMERA

(Shaun had considered all his options on the flight home, knowing that whichever way he turns, the likelihood was his marriage was about to blow up in front of him. Angyalka was someone who wouldn’t ever take something like this lightly and rightfully so, and although Shaun felt sorry, he wasn’t sure if that was sorry for what he’d done, or sorry for being caught. He’d always known there was a risk, and he also knew what he was doing was wrong, and thus he was cursing himself for ever entertaining the idea. He’d been weak, and he knew it. More than anything, he knew he should be filled with regret. But he wasn’t, and that was the concerning thing. When he had arrived home, Angyalka wasn’t there, but that had made the silence in the house even more overbearing. He preferred that however to the pain of his heart almost bursting out of his chest when he heard the front door open… Angyalka walking into the room unknowing what was about to happen. She sees him, and immediately flings her arms around her husband, Shaun returning the favor, though he felt guilty, feeling that this comfort was not something he deserved. Angyalka seems to sense this, keeping her arms around him, but looking into his eyes.)

Angyalka: What is wrong with you, my love?

(Shaun pulls away and takes a seat, patting the space on the sofa next to him. She sits, a scowl forming on her face.)

Angyalka: I’m confused. You won, I thought you would return happy.

(Shaun sighs, knowing there was no point dragging this out.)

Shaun: I need to tell you something…

Angyalka: What? You’re scaring me, Shaun.

(He closes his eyes, hesitating before finally finding the words.)

Shaun: I’m having an affair

(There is silence, not a word is spoken, Shaun sitting there, his eyes still closed, almost expecting to be hit with something. He opens his eyes, turning to Angyalka who hasn’t moved, her eyes seemingly staring into the distance. Shock in its purest form. He reaches out to her, attempting to hold her hand but at the last moment she pulls it away, coming out of her trancelike state, before turning and looking directly at him.)

Angyalka: Do I know her?

Shaun: No… it’s just, ‘someone’.

Angyalka: How long?

Shaun: A couple of months

Angyalka: And why are you telling me now?

(Every sinew in his body tells him to walk away now or at least tell a small lie to cover up the truth. But Shaun saw himself as a moralistic man, which was laughable in this moment. He’d come this far, so may as well not stop now.)

Shaun: There is video footage… I’m on camera and very soon, her husband is going to know the truth. I didn’t want you to find out from anyone but me.

Angyalka: That’s big of you

(The statement reeked of disdain and sarcasm. That didn’t sting as much as the next question, however.)

Angyalka: Why would you do this to me?

(It was a question he couldn’t answer, because the truth was, he didn’t know. Excitement, something new, boredom, all the above. It was a multitude of things that still didn’t explain why he’d gone behind her back and not done the decent thing and been honest before now.)

Angyalka: Answer me

Shaun: I can’t… I don’t know why I did it. It wasn’t…

Angyalka: Don’t say it wasn’t me; it was you, Shaun. I beg you. Show at least a little common decency and respect.

(Shaun gets to his feet, walking over and pouring himself a glass of Jack Daniels, the same for Angyalka. He then places hers in front of her, downing the contents of his glass in one.)

Angyalka: Do you love her?

Shaun: No. I love you.

Angyalka: No Shaun, you don’t get to say that to me. Not now.

Shaun: So, what do you want from me?

(She hesitates, her eyes narrowing as she stares directly at him.)

Angyalka: Right now, space. Because I can’t even stand to look at you.

Shaun: Angy?

Angyalka: Out

Shaun: Angyalka?

Angyalka: OUT!!!!

(Shaun lets a deep breath escape, before getting to his feet.)

Shaun: I’m sorry

Angyalka: Sorry you got caught.

(If there was hatred there, Shaun didn’t notice it, however there was no doubt disappointment, and a need to be on her own. And right now, Shaun was happy to give it, knowing that he didn’t need to be there once the anger of the situation kicked in. And anyway, it gave him time to inform someone else that her life was about to blow up in her face, her life also never the same again. The woman who had caused all of this by being in the right place, at the right time. Or as it now turned out, the wrong time.)

RECORDING…ON CAMERA

“Preferential treatment…”

(Shaun Cruze appears on screen, a white tee shirt and blue jeans his choice of attire.)

“Come on now Sutter, that’s lazy even for you. Do you think that when I sat at home and decided I was going to come back, I didn’t know that was going to be the allegation when it came to every little thing. I thought you guys were supposed to have ‘Vision’? I mean, there are a million and one more creative things you could have focused on, because let’s face it, I’ve got a raft of history for you to look back on. But no, you have to throw these ridiculous things at me because someone in SCW thought it would be a good idea to take me to a show to go through the final little bits of pieces as to what was going to happen next. Did arriving in a limo really piss you off that much? If it did Sutter, I think it’s about time you pulled up your big boy pants and stopped being sensitive because things are about to get a whole lot worse for you and your little gang of hangers on. Let’s make something clear, something that needs to be said right off the bat. If these allegations were true, and I’m being fast tracked to the top over those that are far more deserving right now, why would I be making my debut against you Clyde? Someone who talks, looks and acts like nothing more than a poor mans Blake Mason. If I was here for some kind of nostalgia trip, why wouldn’t my opening gambit be against someone who I have a little history with, and a match that would capture the imagination against someone like Syren say? No Clyde, I’m starting at the bottom, and I fully intend on making my way through the ranks and back to a World Championship I haven’t held in over a decade, and there is no conspiracy theory here, no matter how much you’d like to present one. The bottom Clyde, and someone in SCW has decided that it is you sunshine. And let’s face it… that’s the root of the all the jealousy in place right here, isn’t it? Why you decided to focus on me arriving late at the show was to try and draw less attention to me being there, until you opened your big mouth. But of course, you’ll double down on your logic, I wouldn’t expect anything less. I fully expect your reply to be full of the bitterness borne from you never scaling to the heights you believe should be yours by right. But it is this kind of behavior, this kind of ‘reach’ that I fully expected to have to deal with before I got some kind of foothold back in this company. And when I knew it was going to be you who I faced first, it was clear that I wasn’t going to receive a whole lot of sense.

I’m going to let you into a little secret Sutter.

There are two wheels in motion here, two ideologies in play. Let me speak to you about SCW’s ideas on my return, shall we? I mentioned the word ‘nostalgia’, and there is no question that the company is going to try and tap into it. After all, there are people in the offices of whom that kind of stuff is expected. When you like it or not Clyde, my family name is one that is synonymous with this company amongst others, my nephew left this company a US and World Champion. To a company like SCW, the Cruze name markets itself. Put our name on a poster, and immediately the ticket sales pop. You heard that reaction when I entered that arena right? Believe it or not, something like that is rare. I’m not blind to that, I know full well that the company is going to make money this weekend, and that if our match is a big deal on the card, it’s because my name is attached, and unlike some, I’m ok with that. I don’t see it as the company taking advantage, I see it as the company doing what it takes to keep themselves on top. So, if they give me a limo, then it is purely a drop in the ocean compared to the ticket sales and the stream rates. SCW is a multi-billion-dollar corporation Sutter, each one of us is here to make the company money. Bringing me back was a no brainer for this company, and I’m not saying that with even a shred of arrogance. Though of course you’ll tie yourself in knots trying to claim otherwise. Right now, Clyde, do you know what I am? I’m not a World Championship Contender like you would have everyone believe. I’m not a contender for any of the titles, and nor should I be. What I AM to this company is a feel-good story that straight away you have tried to dismiss. A more ‘aware’ individual would recognize that, he is lucky to be involved.

So, what is the second ideology I hear you ask?

Well, that is my reason for being here, and in truth the one that you should be focusing on, instead of something that is out of both our controls. See, although I recognized it was inevitable, I am not just here for a nice story to warm the fanbases hearts, only to step out into that ring and ruin any reputation I once had. I get it, but it doesn’t mean to say I like being a part of it, because it distracts me from my reality and the reasons why I had to come back. For now, a lot of that is going to remain my business, it’s got nothing to do with anyone else, so let’s just say I made mistakes. I’m back here, because at this stage in my life, it was exactly what I needed. To be a part of something that always made me feel whole. Make no bones about it Sutter, I know the risks of me being back in amongst it. I know that if you beat me, and I fail to get a foothold in this company, I’m going to be dragging my reputation down. But here was your biggest mistake, Clyde, the moment I knew that this was going to be far simpler than it could have been. You think I want a easy route to the top, you believe I’m going to be pushed to the stratosphere, and leave you in my slipstream based simply on who I am. That right there told me that you are believing what you want, totally forgetting what the mantra was for all my family. To always be the hardest worker in any room. You can say that I’m getting it easy. That I’m being given this ‘pomp and circumstance’ and that you intend to do something about it, but you haven’t tapped in, not in the slightest as to who the heck I am, and who I was. And yes, you might raise a valid point… I’ve not been in the ring for a while now. My last match with Konrad Raab was ages ago, and thus there must be an element of ring-rust. That’s right, isn’t it? But again Sutter, for someone who has the ‘Vision’ you’re failing to see what is right in front of you. I walked into Taking Hold of the Flame and almost won it while not an active competitor. I beat Konrad Raab AND all his goons while not an active competitor. Sure, I’ve not been in the ring in a while, but do you truly believe that one of the most prepared wrestlers in SCW’s history hasn’t made damn sure he is in the peak condition ahead of a return that will define how this is going to go? OK, fair enough, I’m thirty-six now, not old but certainly not a spring chicken like some of the wrestlers in SCW right now. Maybe, it’s going to take a while to get up to full speed, after all there is nothing like competition to get those juices flowing right? But, if you think that I’ve not spent hours in the ring with Owen, getting as close as I can to one hundred percent. If you believe I haven’t wrestled under an alias at some of the indies to get that mojo back ahead of time. Then I’m going to double down on something I said earlier. You don’t have the first clue what you are dealing with, and when you consider that I am one of the most high-profile competitors to EVER compete for this company, that is unforgivable.

Though not surprising. How can it be considering you call yourself an assassin.

So, let me get this straight. You’re whole schtick is that you made good on those who ‘fate’ has decided should be ‘finished’. You are the one that puts the things in place and does the deed… that about sum it up? In that case bro, I have a question. Nothing behind it but a personal interest. Name, names please… give me a list. Who has suffered that fate? Honestly, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen how you present yourself, so I’m not going to go back and look for myself when I can ask the man himself that very question. I guess what I am asking you is, how good are you at your job? Without all the context, I reckon I could hazard a guess. What you are Clyde, is one of those individuals who needs a ‘purpose’ to remain relevant. You are someone who needs a flashy little tagline that let’s face it, you are only the first three letters. ASSassin. I’m sure there is a more than capable wrestler, after all you did go to the Braddock Wrestling School so you must have something about you. What I’m seeing however is a huge individual with strength to spare, who instead made a point of being my own ‘welcome party’, when the reality is if I meant so little, I shouldn’t have even been a blip on your radar. What you are Clyde, is a ‘character’. All that ability thrown down the toilet, to play a part.

Pathetic,

Let me put another theory your way, shall I? And I think this is far more reliable than your random attempts at favoritism towards me. One thing I know you are is an intelligent man, someone who despite everything, understands how this business works, and how to get yourself noticed. I mean, that first night, you were the only one who stepped up to me, and if you were right in your allegations, I would have thought I would have had a whole raft of people sharing your opinion. But I didn’t. I think, and bear with me here, you saw an opportunity. An opportunity to better yourself off the back of someone who, even after being away for a long time, is still more prevalent that you will ever be. You decided to get yourself up in my business, so that people would notice you, off the back of my name. Because honestly, I cannot believe that a man like you would have such a fragile ego. I cannot see a world where someone like you would even be paying me the slightest bit of attention. After all, even if you do beat me… if true, that wouldn’t stop the favoritism would it… I’d probably get a rematch if you were right. That makes more sense, doesn’t it? No, you saw an opportunity all right, to step from the shadow of Melinda, and be seen as a threat in your own right.

Instead of SCW’s worst joke.

Newsflash though Sutter, for that to happen, you’d have needed to face someone only in this for the pay packet, someone intent on stealing a living. You would have needed someone to come in, not understand, nor see you for who you truly are. You got unlucky Sutter, because you are stepping into the ring with someone not here to make up the numbers, or bring some star quality, or even for the obvious nostalgia trip. You are looking at the man who will move and heaven and high water to once again climb to the top and be the SCW World Champion. I look at the names on this roster, people who I recognize from before and others who have stepped up to the fray and I recognize that it is going to be far from easy. I know that there are pitfalls to be had along the way, and maybe you will be the first. But I doubt it. Everything you have told me leads me to believe you don’t have the first clue what is heading your way, and that this will be a cakewalk for you. I’m here to tell you, categorically, that won’t be the case. You’ve got me and my situation all wrong Clyde… maybe one day I’ll feel like talking about it, but today isn’t that day. You have made countless assumptions and when we are done, it is those assumptions that will cost you. According to what I know about you, you might not even be concerned with the victory and just want to hurt me. To that I say, give it your best shot Sutter, I’ll be waiting. I’m going to make sure you understand why I was called the ‘Impact Player’ and why that was a name given to me by my peers… and not an attempt at looking tougher than I really am.

So, in closing Sutter, I’m going to leave you with this. You’ve said a lot of things about me on camera, some true, some false, one thing that you have never acknowledged is what I need from this match. Understanding everything I have said before, what do I need to take away from our match. See, I understand that there will be people in the back, looking at me just like you are, believing that I am nothing more than cannon fodder. I’m certain, there are those already lining up to take a shot, believing that my name is the springboard they need to break through the glass ceiling they seem to be hindered by. People, just like you, will have their own opinions, without taking to account want I need. What I need Clyde… is the live up to that name I was given. And make an IMPACT. That impact will be made, not just by beating you Clyde, but by also taking all of your disrespectful words and shoving them back down your throat. That impact would be made, by taking one of the most powerful men on this roster and making him look like an amateur. That impact will be made by stepping into Boston, at Shattered Reality Night One, and not just defeating you, but by being the performance that everyone remembers when Night Two kicks off. You’ll say I won’t do that. You’ll puff your chest out and try to intimidate me, and I actively encourage that. When I do the unexpected Clyde, that makes the impact. This impact is one that will send ripples throughout this company and ensure that every single person on this roster is made aware… Shaun Cruze is BACK. I need this, I want this… and I’m going to take this opportunity like it’s my last. And I’m going to do it with the SCW fans by my side. For THEM. And for ME!!”

(Scene fades.)

[The Assassin]

2 of 2
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On Camera
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The warehouse turned cold and metallic in winter. Rain had fallen in thin, relentless sheets all evening, drumming on the corrugated roof until the sound became a dull heartbeat inside the vast building. Water dripped through rusted seams overhead, striking the concrete in irregular, lonely taps that echoed like distant footsteps. Every few seconds a drop would hit a puddle and send out a faint ring of light from the single sodium lamp that still worked, high up among the rafters. The rest of the place was swallowed by shadow. Rows of broken pallets and collapsed shelving stretched away into blackness, skeletal ribs of a dead industry. The air tasted of wet iron. A faint chemical sweetness lingered too, the kind that clings to old cardboard and packing foam long after the goods are gone. No one had worked here in years. The windows were blinded by plywood and grime, and the great loading doors had been chained shut so long ago that rust had welded the links into a single reddish sculpture.

At the center of the empty floor, beneath the one working lamp, stood Clyde Sutter, The Harbinger of Fate. He did not move. He simply occupied the space as though the building had been waiting for him to arrive and give it purpose again. The cone of yellow light fell across the sharp angles of his face and left the rest of him half dissolved into darkness. Tall and built with the clean, economical strength of someone who had trained for years without ever needing to prove it to anyone. His suit was charcoal, almost black, cut close to the body and still carrying the faint creases of a recent pressing. No overcoat tonight. The cold did not appear to reach him. Long black hair lay in heavy strands across his collar. Somewhere deeper in the warehouse a rat moved, claws clicking over broken glass. Clyde did not glance toward the sound. The puddles around his polished shoes reflected the lamp, his trousers, the pale column of his throat, fracturing all of it into trembling gold. Beyond the chained doors, the rain kept falling. Wind pushed at the building and made the whole structure groan like an old ship. Inside, nothing answered the weather. Only the steady drip from the roof, the soft click of cooling metal, and the quiet, deliberate rhythm of one man’s pulse.

“Mr. Cruze, allow me to formally introduce myself…I am Clyde Sutter, I am The Assassin, I am The Harbinger of Fate, and what you THINK you know about me?” He shakes his head. “It is wrong, all of it is wrong. Yes, I was brought up in the Braddock School of Wrestling, but they had this false belief that they could control me. They thought that they could contain my rage, they thought they could make me into one of their cookie cutter professional wrestlers. But I am a force of nature, Mr. Cruze. I am not something you can control or shape. The truth is, I only answer to one thing and that is Fate. Fate dictates what I do and when I do it. Fate dictates who I put on the shelf and, unfortunately for you and your grandiose return, it looks like you may be next on Fate’s hit list.” The Harbinger of Fate smirks knowingly.

“It is sad to see what you have become here and now with this pathetic little return of yours, Mr. Cruze, and I will explain why in greater detail. But to keep the topic on myself for a moment, since you claim to know so much, I call myself The Assassin, The Harbinger of Fate, and I believe in Fate, but that is not just a character I portray, that isn’t some cheap gimmick. It is WHO THE HELL I AM!” He points a finger at the camera. “But you? The Impact Player? You are not The Impact Player. Hell, you never were. It always was just a role you portrayed for the sheep, for the people willing to shell out money for your merchandise. Admittedly you played the role of Impact Player very well and Fate rewarded you quite handsomely, just like an actor gets rewarded for their hard work with an Oscar.”

“Douglas Coupland once said that ‘as you grow older, it becomes harder to feel 100 percent happy; you learn all the things that can go wrong, you become superstitious about tempting fate, about bringing disaster upon your life by accidentally feeling too good one day.’” The Assassin chuckles softly to himself. He points a finger at the camera. “You, Mr. Cruze, appear to be falling into Douglas Coupland’s dilemma. Except for one minor detail; you, Mr. Cruze, do not appear to be superstitious in the slightest. You do not seem concerned about what Fate has in store for your future, otherwise you would not have returned to Supreme Championship Wrestling and you certainly would not have accepted this match against me at Shattered Reality.” The Assassin shakes his head.

“No one denies your achievements, Mr. Cruze. What you have done for SCW is unparalleled. You are a Supreme Champion. The Cruze family legacy is legendary within these hallowed halls; you, Owen, Orlando…all names that are respected and revered. Rightfully so. You have gone nose to nose against other SCW legends…names like Street, Chase, Valentine, Frost, Jones, Braddock…all have, at one point or another, fallen before the Cruze name. If you believe that I am entering this match overconfident simply because I believe firmly in my heart and soul that Fate is on my side then you are mistaken. I am well aware of your reputation and I am prepared for the coming war. I am well aware that Fate has not given me an easy task. But see, that is all this is for me, Mr. Cruze. It is a job. Fate has given me a job to do and I will do that job because I am very good at what I do. You were also very good at what you did, Mr. Cruze. You did your job here in SCW so well that Fate rewarded you. Fate rewarded you with a name that is respected in professional wrestling circles. Fate rewarded you with a career in Hollywood. Fate rewarded you by making you into a big star.” He chuckles softly.

“So tell me…why have you returned? You had everything you wanted, you had the kind of life any normal man would dream of having. Why leave the safety and comfort of Hollywood, of luxury, just to return here to Supreme Championship Wrestling? The answer is quite obvious; ego. You need that one final run. The fans chant ‘you still got it’ and you want to go out to the ring and see for yourself if you really do still have IT. What, pray tell, prompted this sudden burst of ego, this desire to step back into the ring for one final run when there is literally nothing left for you to accomplish? I can think of a few possibilities, Mr. Cruze, so tell me if I am getting warm. Do you see some of the new blood wrestling here and these new talents, they bother you? Perhaps it is The Glimmer Sisters; two circus talents who like to use their ‘God given abilities’ to their advantage, if you know what I mean? You wouldn’t be the first person The Glimmer Sisters have pissed off. Perhaps it is a man who shows so little respect for this sport that he calls himself Just Some Loser? Maybe you still hold a grudge against Ms. Williams and don’t like the fact that she is one of the most popular people in the company despite the fact that she acts like a chaotic villain?” Sutter shrugs his shoulders.

“Or perhaps its the simple fact that SCW is passing you by? You see these new talents, all of them, whether the name is Striker, Slayton, or they are from a certain Fiery Nation, you see these individuals and you fear that they will surpass you. You see them and you KNOW that they will not just match you but they will surpass you. Everything you have ever contributed to this sport, to this company, they will do better. As you grow older you are worried that you reputation will soon take a hit. Why should anyone respect the Cruze name when a certain redhead spitfire named Frost, with her narcissist wife, are about to eclipse everything the Cruze family ever did? Why should anyone revere the Cruze name when the Braddock family already has one Supreme Champion on the roster and another two on the way? You are being overshadowed, Mr. Cruze. As a matter of fact, people had already forgotten about you. People had ceased to care if you would ever return. Some had even forgotten who you were.” He smirks.

“In the words of Freddy Krueger, being dead is not a problem but being forgotten is a bitch.” The Assassin snickers nastily. “You do not want to be forgotten so you decided to tempt Fate. You chose to risk the glamour lifestyle Fate had gifted you with…no, you THREW IT AWAY, you took the gift Fate had given you and you threw it away just so you could return with all of this pomp and circumstance and remind these people who you are. Honestly, I am surprised you didn’t pay this promotion to throw a parade in celebration of your return. What you did do, however, was make a grave mistake in leaving the life of luxury that Fate had bestowed upon you. You made a mistake by thumbing your nose at Fate’s reward just to return for one more ego trip. When you tempt Fate, Mr. Cruze, Fate will always respond in kind because Fate writes the script. You threw away Fate’s reward so Fate has written a new ending for you and, in turn, has given me a great gift. You get your grand return at Shattered Reality and as for me?” The Assassin laughs evilly.

“I get to expose the legend of Shaun Cruze. I get to quite literally choke the life out of the legend of Shaun Cruze. When I lock in The Judgment Day there is no escape. There is only giving up, admitting to the entire world that you are a fraud, or letting the oxygen leave your body until you pass out unconscious like a child in my arms. Now I know that sounds quite harsh, and I admit that I will enjoy hurting you, but I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not the bad guy in this scenario. I am just a guy who sees things for how they truly are and when I look at you, Mr. Cruze, I see a man desperately trying to relive his glory days at the expense of the new blood here in SCW.” He shakes his head.

“Now ordinarily I don’t do work like this for free. The Fall of Man paid me quite a hefty sum of money to do their dirty work. This job, however, is on the house and I do it on behalf of certain Monster Machine’s, Colleen McDonald’s, and the Meghan Straders, all whose spots you are attempting to steal just for the sake of your ego. I do not like men like you who think they can step over someone else, who believe they can cut in line just because they are entitled to it, just because of a last name. I don’t like it and neither does Fate, this is why YOUR FATE is sealed.”