07-02-2025, 01:06 PM
2 of 2
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June 30th, 2025
Charlotte, NC
Off Camera
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The late afternoon sun filtered through half-closed blinds, casting shadows across the disarray of the small apartment. Dust floated lazily in the amber light, adding a surreal stillness to a scene of chaos that had long since lost its sting. Broken picture frames leaned against the baseboards like fallen dominoes. Books were scattered in untidy piles, some with torn covers, others with pages dog-eared or half-ripped out. A battered coffee table stood in the center of the room like a wounded animal, one leg splintered, the surface marred with a long gash where something sharp had dragged across it. Clyde Sutter stood in the middle of the wreckage, tall and motionless. His long black hair hung loosely past his shoulders, damp with sweat at the temples. He wore a tight-fitting dark SCW t-shirt, its sleeves rolled just enough to expose the hard curves of his muscular arms, and a pair of worn jeans that had clearly seen better days. He looked like a man built for battle, his broad shoulders and strong posture belying the quiet calculation in his pale blue eyes. The place had been ransacked a few weeks ago while his old friend, Joey, had been staying here; lucky for Joey, he wasn’t around when it was attacked. Sutter now returned again to his old Charlotte apartment, trying to see it with fresh eyes, hoping something, anything, would reveal itself now that the initial fury and disbelief had faded. Joey is convinced that Clyde’s sister, Lilith, is somehow behind this. It does make sense. Clyde hired Joey to investigate Lilith’s criminal dealings, Joey helped Clyde expose her involvement in the murder of Archie Van Stanton. Still, something about this doesn’t make sense and Sutter wants to see it all for himself. But so far, all he had were fragments: a missing laptop, a busted lock on the front door, and an overturned drawer of documents someone had been desperate to find.
Clyde crossed the living room with the slow grace of a predator, eyes scanning the damage with deliberate focus. A hand brushed lightly over the back of the couch, fingers tracing the edge where the upholstery had been slashed open. He paused at the bookshelf, crouching to inspect a line of dusty volumes; mostly wrestling biographies, training manuals, and a few classic novels with cracked spines. One of them had been replaced upside down. Clyde narrowed his eyes, tugged it free, and flipped through the pages, though nothing fell out. Nothing revealed itself.
The silence in the apartment was total, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional groan of pipes in the building’s old plumbing. He straightened up slowly, back cracking slightly as he stood. His expression was unreadable; part anger, part fatigue, part buried grief. Whatever had happened here hadn’t just been a robbery. Someone had been looking for something. And they’d been willing to tear everything apart to get it. Clyde turned toward the hallway just as the sound of footsteps approached the door from outside. Slow, firm, measured. He knew the rhythm before he saw the man. The door creaked open. Mason Van Stanton stepped through the door like he owned every room he entered; even ones in shambles. He wore a tailored light-gray blazer. Beneath it, a pale blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, no tie. He wore dark slacks and polished leather shoes that clicked softly against the hardwood, the sound precise and purposeful.
“You’re late.” Clyde growled in an intimidating manner. To his credit, Mason doesn’t seem too bothered. Mason’s expression didn’t shift much. He took in the scene with a detached air, the way a tactician surveys a battlefield after the smoke has cleared.
“Forgive me for not wanting to visit the man who pummelled the ever living crap out of me the last time we met.” There is a clear dripping of sarcasm in the voice of Van Stanton. Clyde lets it pass. Van Stanton then stepped fully into the room. He paused just inside the threshold, hand still lightly resting on the doorframe.
“You owe me, Mason.” Clyde says coldly. “You used me, manipulated e, screwed me over many times. And should I remind you of how you went into business with my sister?”
“Right, fine, maybe I do owe you a favor or two.” Mason sighs. “So what is it, what’s wrong?” He takes look at the damage in the apartment. He smirks. “Did you have a wild party here or something?”
“Do I look like the kind of individual who would throw a party?”
“Good point. So what did happen?”
“I let an old friend of mine stay here…” he pauses, trying to think of the right words; while Mason may swear that he is only accepting financial assistance from Lilith Sutter, nothing more, he still doesn’t trust Mason enough to take him at his word. He has to be careful about what information he shares with his former agent. “...he was in some trouble and needed a safe place to stay.”
“What’s your friend’s name?” Mason asks. “Is it anyone I know?”
“His name isn’t important. But my friend recently informed me that he came back to the apartment one night and found it like this.” He points an accusatory finger at Mason. “Do you know anything about this, Mason?”
“I see where this is going.” Van Stanton shakes his head. “I had nothing to do with this, Clyde. I mean, do you think I would be crazy enough to provoke you?”
“No, but you are working with my sister and SHE would provoke me.”
“Look, I already told you, I only take money from her. That’s it.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about her business dealings…legal or illegal.”
“You never know anything, do you?” Sutter approaches Mason menacingly. He backs him up against a wall. The calm demeanor of Van Stanton quickly evaporates as he starts to quiver in fear. “I am going to call my sister. If I learn that you are involved, if I even SUSPECT that you are involved, I will hurt you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” Mason gulps nervously.
“Good. Now leave.” Sutter says commandingly. Mason doesn’t have to be told twice. He quickly turns and makes his exit just as quickly as he arrived. The Assassin sighs with annoyance as he shuts the door. He walks over to a sofa and finds a place to sit amongst the wreckage of the ransacked apartment. Clyde produces an iPhone and proceeds to FaceTime someone he had sworn to never contact again…
…his sister, Lilith Sutter.
He waits patiently for an answer. He lets it ring for what seems like an eternity. After nearly a minute of nonstop ringing, finally the call is answered. The screen flashes to life and he sees the familiar face of his sister on screen. She is smirking arrogantly, almost as if she expected to receive a call from her brother any moment now.
“Ah, my dear brother, it has been so long since we have spoken.”
“Do not feign ignorance, Lilith.” Clyde says coldly. “You know why I am calling.”
“No, I can honestly say that I do not.”
“Very well.” Clyde takes the phone and turns it so she can view the damage in his apartment. He walks all over the apartment, showing every single bit of damage, every overturned furniture and broken picture frames. All of it. He turns the phone back to himself and glares coldly back at her. “Is any of this ringing any bells, sister?”
“No.” She chuckles. “I suppose you think I have something to do with your apartment being damaged?”
“Yes.” Sutter nods his head. “You may be stuck in Russia right now but you still have influence, you still have connections, and you still have reach.”
“I do, that is correct, but do you honestly believe I would waste my time and efforts into damaging your pathetic apartment?”
The Assassin hates his sister with every fiber of his being. Still, her words have a ring of truth in them. For someone as wealthy as her, with the connections she has, doing something like this seems to be rather petty and pointless. Lilith’s schemes are typically grander. Clyde sighs out of frustration.
“So you didn’t do this?”
“No. Honestly, brother, you are looking in all the wrong places. Grant, it is logical to think of me as someone who would target you. You did me wrong, all I wanted was to reunite our family and instead you put the authorities on my tail, forcing me to seek sanctuary in Russia. I would love to get back at you but, dear brother, know this; I am not the only person in this world that you have wronged.”
Instantly the screen goes blank. Lilith hung up on him. He throws the phone down angrily and let out a loud yell. He is frustrated because he came here wanting to find answers but he came up empty. He is also frustrated because Lilith is once again right. Clyde has angered many people in his shady history. Who else could have been angry enough with him to target him? This may not be about Joey at all. This may not be about Lilith. This could be someone else from Clyde’s past coming back to haunt him.
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July 2nd, 2025
Los Angeles, California
On Camera
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In the soft, golden haze of a setting sun, Clyde Sutter and Melinda Braddock stand poised in an immaculate garden, framed by lush greenery and the hazy silhouettes of distant high-rises of Los Angeles, California. The Assassin, tall and broad-shouldered with a quietly commanding presence, wears a striking white tuxedo that fits him with tailored precision. His long black hair cascades to his shoulders, subtly tousled, adding a roguish edge to his otherwise formal appearance. His dark eyes hold a steady, confident gaze, his expression calm and assured. Beside him, Melinda Braddock radiates beauty in a flowing pastel gown that evokes a dreamlike sense of fantasy and grace. Her dress, an exquisite cascade of blues, pinks, purples, and subtle greens, shimmers gently in the fading light. The fabric, sheer and delicate, moves with her like a whisper, cinched gently at the waist to accentuate her thin figure. Her long blonde hair falls in gentle waves down her back, catching the last traces of sunlight and glowing like spun gold. Together, they appear almost cinematic, two figures seemingly lifted from a classic Hollywood romance and placed into a world of surreal tranquility. Which is almost appropriate, considering the setting for tomorrow night’s Breakdown. The setting sun bathes them in a warm, flattering light.
“Fate is the ruler of all things but that doesn’t mean humanity is left devoid of free will.” The lovely Melinda Braddock begins, breaking the silence with her beautiful voice. “We do get to make choices in our lives. What we wear is a choice, for example.”
“And may I say, you have CHOSEN to wear something very beautiful, my love.” Clyde remarks.
“Thank you, babe.” Melinda smirks. “In the world of professional wrestling, how we choose to compete, the moves we utilize in our arsenal, who we target, the enemies we make along the way, the allies we make along the way, all of those are choices that Fate allows us to make. Fate is not some vindictive, malevolent tyrant. Fate is gracious enough to allow us to have choices. Yet, at the end of the day, regardless of the choices we make, the endgame is still dictated by Fate. Fate will allow us to choose the path we take but, at the end of the day, the destination will always be dictated by Fate. Chance Owens, let me clear a few things up with you. Your poor decisions at Taking Hold of the Flame were what led to your elimination. What was Clyde supposed to do? Help you win? And as far as Kelsai goes; she CHOSE the life of a professional wrestler. She knew the risks going in. She made poor decisions that led Fate to putting her in her place. And you want to go off and threaten Clyde?” She snickers. “It’s laughable to think that you could be a threat to my man. But let me ask you this, Chance; before you go casting stones, have you looked at the sins of your own girl? I was still in training at the time but I was watching her reign of terror in Global Championship Wrestling, screwing over everyone right and left. She is no saint and definitely not some innocent victim. Choices that we make put us in the crosshairs of Fate. Think about that.” Melinda sneers. Sutter kisses her on her lips.
“Well said, my beloved. It is true, there are a limitless number of paths that lay before us that we can choose to take and yet Fate has seen fit to ensure that all of those paths lead to the same destination that it has in mind. Mr. Striker, you and your friends…Dangerous Minds is it? Phantom Troupe? You lot are a bunch of hotheads. You lose your tempers the instant you feel the slightest hint of being wronged or offended. Instead of civil discourse you instantly wish to solve the problem with your fists. You remind me a lot of myself during my first run in SCW, if I am being completely honest with you. Though I will credit to you in at least one sense; your rage have produced at least some minimal success whereas mine failed. My rage nearly got me blackballed from the industry.”
“That is partially my mother’s fault.” Melinda remarks with a grin.
“This is true, she did not approve of me then. In any event, Mr. Striker, your rage, arguably the rage and temper flaring of your entire troupe, has proved somewhat fruitful. It has produced entertaining Underground wars with the likes of Kimberly Williams, tag team clashes with Twisted & Sadistic and Light in the Darkness. Most recently it produced a clash with The Fall of Man that got your friends into a bit of trouble. That’s the thing about free will, isn’t it? It can lead to trouble. Your choices, Mr. Striker, have led to you having a bit of a rough and rocky road in Supreme Championship Wrestling. For that I feel for you because, whether you approve of my viewpoints and actions or not, the fact is that we are very much alike. We are two warriors fighting to contain the rage filled monsters within. Well, at least I am fighting to contain it. Better yet, I have learned to channel that rage, to use and focus that monster when necessary and put it back in its box when all is said and done. That is a lesson you have yet to learn and it is what has led to your difficult times, Mr. Striker.”
“You are not alone in your inability to learn from your mistakes.” The Assassin smirks knowingly. “Mr. Darius, you open your mouth, you insert your foot, and you get destroyed again and again, match after match, humiliation after humiliation. One would think you would have learned to control your own temper and your own lustful cravings by now and yet you continue to follow that same path of heartache and pain. At least the path Mr. Striker has chosen did produce some fruit. You, Mr. Darius? You have chosen a path that has led to absolutely nothing, which is what you are. You are nothing, Mr. Darius, and you are definitely not a threat to me. The choices you have made have brought you to this moment where you will come face to face with Fate’s Chosen Assassin and you will be executed. You will be destroyed by me and I will take great enjoyment in it.” Sutter smirks.
“Mr. Striker, Mr. Darius, I know these words are not enjoyable, they are not comforting. I did not come here to speak words of comfort, I came here to speak the truth and the truth hurts. I also came here to execute the will of Fate and Fate has willed that, on Breakdown, not just one but the both of you shall be executed.”
“Oh come on, babe.” Melinda chimes in. “Leave them on a high note!”
“Very well.” Sutter nods his head. “I can give you at least one word of comfort, Mr. Striker and Mr. Darius. You may fret over the choices that you have made, the poor choices that you have made that have led you to this point. But you do not have to fret over the destination. The destination has already been dictated for you by Fate, so you do not have to worry those puny little minds of yours, because your Fate is sealed.”
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June 30th, 2025
Charlotte, NC
Off Camera
==========
The late afternoon sun filtered through half-closed blinds, casting shadows across the disarray of the small apartment. Dust floated lazily in the amber light, adding a surreal stillness to a scene of chaos that had long since lost its sting. Broken picture frames leaned against the baseboards like fallen dominoes. Books were scattered in untidy piles, some with torn covers, others with pages dog-eared or half-ripped out. A battered coffee table stood in the center of the room like a wounded animal, one leg splintered, the surface marred with a long gash where something sharp had dragged across it. Clyde Sutter stood in the middle of the wreckage, tall and motionless. His long black hair hung loosely past his shoulders, damp with sweat at the temples. He wore a tight-fitting dark SCW t-shirt, its sleeves rolled just enough to expose the hard curves of his muscular arms, and a pair of worn jeans that had clearly seen better days. He looked like a man built for battle, his broad shoulders and strong posture belying the quiet calculation in his pale blue eyes. The place had been ransacked a few weeks ago while his old friend, Joey, had been staying here; lucky for Joey, he wasn’t around when it was attacked. Sutter now returned again to his old Charlotte apartment, trying to see it with fresh eyes, hoping something, anything, would reveal itself now that the initial fury and disbelief had faded. Joey is convinced that Clyde’s sister, Lilith, is somehow behind this. It does make sense. Clyde hired Joey to investigate Lilith’s criminal dealings, Joey helped Clyde expose her involvement in the murder of Archie Van Stanton. Still, something about this doesn’t make sense and Sutter wants to see it all for himself. But so far, all he had were fragments: a missing laptop, a busted lock on the front door, and an overturned drawer of documents someone had been desperate to find.
Clyde crossed the living room with the slow grace of a predator, eyes scanning the damage with deliberate focus. A hand brushed lightly over the back of the couch, fingers tracing the edge where the upholstery had been slashed open. He paused at the bookshelf, crouching to inspect a line of dusty volumes; mostly wrestling biographies, training manuals, and a few classic novels with cracked spines. One of them had been replaced upside down. Clyde narrowed his eyes, tugged it free, and flipped through the pages, though nothing fell out. Nothing revealed itself.
The silence in the apartment was total, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional groan of pipes in the building’s old plumbing. He straightened up slowly, back cracking slightly as he stood. His expression was unreadable; part anger, part fatigue, part buried grief. Whatever had happened here hadn’t just been a robbery. Someone had been looking for something. And they’d been willing to tear everything apart to get it. Clyde turned toward the hallway just as the sound of footsteps approached the door from outside. Slow, firm, measured. He knew the rhythm before he saw the man. The door creaked open. Mason Van Stanton stepped through the door like he owned every room he entered; even ones in shambles. He wore a tailored light-gray blazer. Beneath it, a pale blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, no tie. He wore dark slacks and polished leather shoes that clicked softly against the hardwood, the sound precise and purposeful.
“You’re late.” Clyde growled in an intimidating manner. To his credit, Mason doesn’t seem too bothered. Mason’s expression didn’t shift much. He took in the scene with a detached air, the way a tactician surveys a battlefield after the smoke has cleared.
“Forgive me for not wanting to visit the man who pummelled the ever living crap out of me the last time we met.” There is a clear dripping of sarcasm in the voice of Van Stanton. Clyde lets it pass. Van Stanton then stepped fully into the room. He paused just inside the threshold, hand still lightly resting on the doorframe.
“You owe me, Mason.” Clyde says coldly. “You used me, manipulated e, screwed me over many times. And should I remind you of how you went into business with my sister?”
“Right, fine, maybe I do owe you a favor or two.” Mason sighs. “So what is it, what’s wrong?” He takes look at the damage in the apartment. He smirks. “Did you have a wild party here or something?”
“Do I look like the kind of individual who would throw a party?”
“Good point. So what did happen?”
“I let an old friend of mine stay here…” he pauses, trying to think of the right words; while Mason may swear that he is only accepting financial assistance from Lilith Sutter, nothing more, he still doesn’t trust Mason enough to take him at his word. He has to be careful about what information he shares with his former agent. “...he was in some trouble and needed a safe place to stay.”
“What’s your friend’s name?” Mason asks. “Is it anyone I know?”
“His name isn’t important. But my friend recently informed me that he came back to the apartment one night and found it like this.” He points an accusatory finger at Mason. “Do you know anything about this, Mason?”
“I see where this is going.” Van Stanton shakes his head. “I had nothing to do with this, Clyde. I mean, do you think I would be crazy enough to provoke you?”
“No, but you are working with my sister and SHE would provoke me.”
“Look, I already told you, I only take money from her. That’s it.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about her business dealings…legal or illegal.”
“You never know anything, do you?” Sutter approaches Mason menacingly. He backs him up against a wall. The calm demeanor of Van Stanton quickly evaporates as he starts to quiver in fear. “I am going to call my sister. If I learn that you are involved, if I even SUSPECT that you are involved, I will hurt you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” Mason gulps nervously.
“Good. Now leave.” Sutter says commandingly. Mason doesn’t have to be told twice. He quickly turns and makes his exit just as quickly as he arrived. The Assassin sighs with annoyance as he shuts the door. He walks over to a sofa and finds a place to sit amongst the wreckage of the ransacked apartment. Clyde produces an iPhone and proceeds to FaceTime someone he had sworn to never contact again…
…his sister, Lilith Sutter.
He waits patiently for an answer. He lets it ring for what seems like an eternity. After nearly a minute of nonstop ringing, finally the call is answered. The screen flashes to life and he sees the familiar face of his sister on screen. She is smirking arrogantly, almost as if she expected to receive a call from her brother any moment now.
“Ah, my dear brother, it has been so long since we have spoken.”
“Do not feign ignorance, Lilith.” Clyde says coldly. “You know why I am calling.”
“No, I can honestly say that I do not.”
“Very well.” Clyde takes the phone and turns it so she can view the damage in his apartment. He walks all over the apartment, showing every single bit of damage, every overturned furniture and broken picture frames. All of it. He turns the phone back to himself and glares coldly back at her. “Is any of this ringing any bells, sister?”
“No.” She chuckles. “I suppose you think I have something to do with your apartment being damaged?”
“Yes.” Sutter nods his head. “You may be stuck in Russia right now but you still have influence, you still have connections, and you still have reach.”
“I do, that is correct, but do you honestly believe I would waste my time and efforts into damaging your pathetic apartment?”
The Assassin hates his sister with every fiber of his being. Still, her words have a ring of truth in them. For someone as wealthy as her, with the connections she has, doing something like this seems to be rather petty and pointless. Lilith’s schemes are typically grander. Clyde sighs out of frustration.
“So you didn’t do this?”
“No. Honestly, brother, you are looking in all the wrong places. Grant, it is logical to think of me as someone who would target you. You did me wrong, all I wanted was to reunite our family and instead you put the authorities on my tail, forcing me to seek sanctuary in Russia. I would love to get back at you but, dear brother, know this; I am not the only person in this world that you have wronged.”
Instantly the screen goes blank. Lilith hung up on him. He throws the phone down angrily and let out a loud yell. He is frustrated because he came here wanting to find answers but he came up empty. He is also frustrated because Lilith is once again right. Clyde has angered many people in his shady history. Who else could have been angry enough with him to target him? This may not be about Joey at all. This may not be about Lilith. This could be someone else from Clyde’s past coming back to haunt him.
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July 2nd, 2025
Los Angeles, California
On Camera
==========
In the soft, golden haze of a setting sun, Clyde Sutter and Melinda Braddock stand poised in an immaculate garden, framed by lush greenery and the hazy silhouettes of distant high-rises of Los Angeles, California. The Assassin, tall and broad-shouldered with a quietly commanding presence, wears a striking white tuxedo that fits him with tailored precision. His long black hair cascades to his shoulders, subtly tousled, adding a roguish edge to his otherwise formal appearance. His dark eyes hold a steady, confident gaze, his expression calm and assured. Beside him, Melinda Braddock radiates beauty in a flowing pastel gown that evokes a dreamlike sense of fantasy and grace. Her dress, an exquisite cascade of blues, pinks, purples, and subtle greens, shimmers gently in the fading light. The fabric, sheer and delicate, moves with her like a whisper, cinched gently at the waist to accentuate her thin figure. Her long blonde hair falls in gentle waves down her back, catching the last traces of sunlight and glowing like spun gold. Together, they appear almost cinematic, two figures seemingly lifted from a classic Hollywood romance and placed into a world of surreal tranquility. Which is almost appropriate, considering the setting for tomorrow night’s Breakdown. The setting sun bathes them in a warm, flattering light.
“Fate is the ruler of all things but that doesn’t mean humanity is left devoid of free will.” The lovely Melinda Braddock begins, breaking the silence with her beautiful voice. “We do get to make choices in our lives. What we wear is a choice, for example.”
“And may I say, you have CHOSEN to wear something very beautiful, my love.” Clyde remarks.
“Thank you, babe.” Melinda smirks. “In the world of professional wrestling, how we choose to compete, the moves we utilize in our arsenal, who we target, the enemies we make along the way, the allies we make along the way, all of those are choices that Fate allows us to make. Fate is not some vindictive, malevolent tyrant. Fate is gracious enough to allow us to have choices. Yet, at the end of the day, regardless of the choices we make, the endgame is still dictated by Fate. Fate will allow us to choose the path we take but, at the end of the day, the destination will always be dictated by Fate. Chance Owens, let me clear a few things up with you. Your poor decisions at Taking Hold of the Flame were what led to your elimination. What was Clyde supposed to do? Help you win? And as far as Kelsai goes; she CHOSE the life of a professional wrestler. She knew the risks going in. She made poor decisions that led Fate to putting her in her place. And you want to go off and threaten Clyde?” She snickers. “It’s laughable to think that you could be a threat to my man. But let me ask you this, Chance; before you go casting stones, have you looked at the sins of your own girl? I was still in training at the time but I was watching her reign of terror in Global Championship Wrestling, screwing over everyone right and left. She is no saint and definitely not some innocent victim. Choices that we make put us in the crosshairs of Fate. Think about that.” Melinda sneers. Sutter kisses her on her lips.
“Well said, my beloved. It is true, there are a limitless number of paths that lay before us that we can choose to take and yet Fate has seen fit to ensure that all of those paths lead to the same destination that it has in mind. Mr. Striker, you and your friends…Dangerous Minds is it? Phantom Troupe? You lot are a bunch of hotheads. You lose your tempers the instant you feel the slightest hint of being wronged or offended. Instead of civil discourse you instantly wish to solve the problem with your fists. You remind me a lot of myself during my first run in SCW, if I am being completely honest with you. Though I will credit to you in at least one sense; your rage have produced at least some minimal success whereas mine failed. My rage nearly got me blackballed from the industry.”
“That is partially my mother’s fault.” Melinda remarks with a grin.
“This is true, she did not approve of me then. In any event, Mr. Striker, your rage, arguably the rage and temper flaring of your entire troupe, has proved somewhat fruitful. It has produced entertaining Underground wars with the likes of Kimberly Williams, tag team clashes with Twisted & Sadistic and Light in the Darkness. Most recently it produced a clash with The Fall of Man that got your friends into a bit of trouble. That’s the thing about free will, isn’t it? It can lead to trouble. Your choices, Mr. Striker, have led to you having a bit of a rough and rocky road in Supreme Championship Wrestling. For that I feel for you because, whether you approve of my viewpoints and actions or not, the fact is that we are very much alike. We are two warriors fighting to contain the rage filled monsters within. Well, at least I am fighting to contain it. Better yet, I have learned to channel that rage, to use and focus that monster when necessary and put it back in its box when all is said and done. That is a lesson you have yet to learn and it is what has led to your difficult times, Mr. Striker.”
“You are not alone in your inability to learn from your mistakes.” The Assassin smirks knowingly. “Mr. Darius, you open your mouth, you insert your foot, and you get destroyed again and again, match after match, humiliation after humiliation. One would think you would have learned to control your own temper and your own lustful cravings by now and yet you continue to follow that same path of heartache and pain. At least the path Mr. Striker has chosen did produce some fruit. You, Mr. Darius? You have chosen a path that has led to absolutely nothing, which is what you are. You are nothing, Mr. Darius, and you are definitely not a threat to me. The choices you have made have brought you to this moment where you will come face to face with Fate’s Chosen Assassin and you will be executed. You will be destroyed by me and I will take great enjoyment in it.” Sutter smirks.
“Mr. Striker, Mr. Darius, I know these words are not enjoyable, they are not comforting. I did not come here to speak words of comfort, I came here to speak the truth and the truth hurts. I also came here to execute the will of Fate and Fate has willed that, on Breakdown, not just one but the both of you shall be executed.”
“Oh come on, babe.” Melinda chimes in. “Leave them on a high note!”
“Very well.” Sutter nods his head. “I can give you at least one word of comfort, Mr. Striker and Mr. Darius. You may fret over the choices that you have made, the poor choices that you have made that have led you to this point. But you do not have to fret over the destination. The destination has already been dictated for you by Fate, so you do not have to worry those puny little minds of yours, because your Fate is sealed.”
![[Image: XJiTNy0.png]](https://i.imgur.com/XJiTNy0.png)
Career Achievements
MWE Television Champion 2x
MWE Riot Champion 1x
GCW World Tag Team Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x