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+--- Thread: Clyde Sutter vs. Chris Lawler (/showthread.php?tid=4802)
Clyde Sutter vs. Chris Lawler - Kemal Yilmaz - 04-02-2026
2 RP Limit for singles
3500 Word Per RP
Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET SUNDAY, April 5, 2026 (to allow enough time)
RE: Clyde Sutter vs. Chris Lawler - The Assassin - 04-02-2026
1 of 2
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March 16th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
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The municipal records office occupied a quiet corner of an older government building tucked between two newer steel and glass structures that seemed determined to crowd it out. Its weathered stone façade carried a sense of stubborn dignity. Inside, the air felt still and faintly cool, with the soft hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence left by the absence of other visitors. Dust clung to the edges of high windows that allowed in a muted, gray London afternoon light. Rows of polished wooden tables stretched across the large central room. Shelves rose in tall, orderly columns along the walls, filled with archival boxes, bound ledgers, microfilm reels and carefully alphabetized files. Everything smelled faintly of old paper, cleaning solution and the lingering hint of rain that drifted in whenever someone opened the front doors. Today, however, the place was empty except for two figures who stood out sharply against the static quiet.
Clyde Sutter stood with one hand braced on the edge of a heavy desk, scanning the labels on a row of catalog drawers. His height alone made him an imposing presence, easily towering over the furniture and giving the impression he had been squeezed into a room built long before men came in his size. Broad shoulders filled out his dark denim jacket, the seams stretched slightly by the muscle underneath. He wore a simple black t-shirt beneath it. His jeans were well used, creased and faded in places, and he wore black boots. His long black hair fell over his shoulders in a slightly uneven curtain. Across the same table, his sister Lilith Sutter leafed carefully through a binder of property records. Where Clyde looked rugged and utilitarian, Lilith carried herself with refined elegance that seemed almost deliberately crafted. Her long black hair shone with the deliberate gloss of careful brushing and treatment, cascading in precise, smooth waves over her shoulders. She wore a fitted cream colored blouse with delicate embroidered detailing at the cuffs, tucked perfectly into a high waisted charcoal skirt that fell just below her knees. Her heels were sleek and narrow, the kind made for boardrooms or upscale social events.
Despite her polished appearance, Lilith moved with calm, deliberate efficiency as she worked. She did not look out of place but rather as if the entire office itself ought to adjust to match her level of poise. The contrast between her and Clyde was striking not only in appearance but in energy. His presence was grounded and solid, while hers brought a quiet sophistication that softened the sterile atmosphere of the archive. They had taken over an entire corner of the records room, spreading paperwork and request slips across the table in a neat but expanding collection. A stack of old maps rested beside Clyde’s elbow, while Lilith had arranged several volumes into a tidy queue beside her. The chair she occupied sat perfectly aligned with the table, while Clyde’s had been nudged a little off center, as though he had pulled it closer without thinking and then forgotten about it.
“Remind me again what we are doing here?” The Assassin asks in a quiet yet impatient and demanding tone.
“Information on your…well OUR…mutual past.”
“This is ridiculous.” Clyde remarks, he is growing more impatient by the second yet he is trying to remain calm and quiet so as to not disturb anyone else in this office. “You already know the answers, sister. You could just tell me and this nonsense would be over.”
“Ah but where is the fun or the adventure in that?” Lilith smirks.
“I did not sign up for an adventure.” Clyde growls. “I want answers and you promised them. You agreed if I worked with you, if I spent more time with you, you would provide me with the answers I seek about my past, about my father Ethan Sutter.”
“OUR father.” Lilith corrects him. “And you will get the answers you seek but I wish for you to figure it out for yourself, much like how I did.”
Outside, the muted sounds of city life drifted through the thick windows. A distant rumble of traffic, the occasional passing siren, the soft patter of rain beginning to return. But inside, the stillness remained uninterrupted, giving the siblings freedom to work and speak without worry of being overheard. They had chosen this time of day intentionally, arriving during a lull when most of the city’s office workers were still stuck at their desks or already home for the evening. The clerk stationed near the front had long since retreated into a back office, leaving Clyde and Lilith effectively alone with the archives with the exception of a few lone individuals nearby.
Clyde shifted his weight and crossed his arms as he looked over the notes Lilith had written in her elegant, carefully looped handwriting. He scanned the shelves behind her, the microfilm machines along the far wall and the small sign that listed the rules of the reading room. A single desk lamp near their materials cast a soft golden circle across their spread of records, giving the space a warmer glow than the overhead lights provided. It made the shadows softer, the corners less severe, and the weight of the place feel gentler.
Lilith paused with one finger marking a page and glanced toward the far end of the room as though picturing the next set of records they would need. Her expression carried the quiet intensity of someone who was used to acquiring information, used to untangling complicated histories and navigating systems that others found tedious or overwhelming. She straightened a stack of documents with a smooth motion, the subtle scent of her expensive perfume lingering faintly in the air each time she moved. Beside her, Clyde looked more restless, and his impatience grew.
“This is intolerable!” He exclaims angrily. His sister just rolls her eyes.
“Calm yourself. You do not want to attract unwanted attention, now do you? All that anger. All that frustration. You have done so well to get it under control in recent years. Control it now.”
“You are responsible for my current impatience and angst.” He points out.
“Perhaps but maybe this is…Fate? Yes, this is Fate testing you? This is Fate seeing if you can still focus that anger. So my advice, dear brother? Focus. Control your anger. Focus it on whatever poor victim you have next.”
“Chris Lawler.” He knows she is referring to his career as a professional wrestler. Lawler is up next on Breakdown. Sutter has not had much success against Lawler when the two battled over the SCW Television Title. It would be nice for The Assassin if he could gain a victory over Lawler on Breakdown as he prepares for his next big attempt to obtain the championship.
Colleen and Scarlet, two others battling for the Television Title. Sutter involved himself in their match at Retribution. No doubt he has drawn their ire and now he has a target on his back. But The Harbinger of Fate does not care. He is merely doing the will of Fate. Still, Lilith raises a good point; with a match against Lawler coming up, and both Colleen and Scarlet on his tail wanting revenge, it would be wise for The Assassin to focus this anger and impatience.
“Yes, Mr. Lawler.” Lilith snickers. “Have you ever beaten him?”
“Shut up, woman.”
“I take that as a no…”
“That WILL change on Breakdown.”
“If Fate says so, correct?” Lilith asks. “Isn’t that your thing, brother? Fate? What if Fate does not wish for you to defeat Lawler? What if Fate does not wish for you to take that Television Title out of Ms. Macdonald’s hands?”
“You do NOT know the will of Fate!”
“And you are quite arrogant if you think YOU know the will of Fate, dear brother.”
This statement silenced Clyde for the words rang true. He does believe in Fate and yes, it is true, he does not know what Fate has planned. He has always viewed himself as Fate’s enforcer. This new philosophy has helped him control his anger and, in turn, has helped rebuild his romance with Melinda Braddock; his one true love. Yet his new philosophy has not proven fruitful inside the wrestling ring. He will never admit it to anyone but he has had doubts about his philosophy for the first time in a long time. Yet Lilith apparently has seen through his strong, cold, stoic front to see the cracks in his foundation. His own silence is telling.
Clyde finally turned away from the shelves and stepped back toward the table, pulling his chair in with the scrape of wood on the polished floor. Lilith lifted her eyes from the binder, her expression composed but questioning, poised on the edge of whatever she intended to say next.
“Ah yes, here we go…” Lilith says, her voice trailing off. Clyde instantly turns to face her, his attention peaked.
“Yes, what is it?”
“This.” She hands a newspaper clipping to her brother. He takes it and looks at it, staring for a few moments to read. He then looks away from the clipping and glares daggers at his sister. His icy stare could kill.
“It is an obituary.”
“How astute of you.”
“An obituary for Holly James.” Clyde states. “I do not even know this woman. Who is she to me? Why do you and I care about her?”
“Well you wouldn’t know Holly.” Lilith smirks. “Well, one would hope that you wouldn’t know her, because if you did your sweet love Melinda might not forgive you.”
“She is a prostitute?” Clyde asks with an arched brow. Lilith nods her head.
“Again, very astute of you dear brother. Poor Holly James was a prostitute. Much like you she was a lost soul, forgotten on the streets. But unlike her you managed to find a way off of the streets. Holly was unlucky.”
“It is a shame.” Clyde agrees. “But again, what does this have to do with me?”
“Every lost soul has an identity and an origin, usually society just never cares to learn about them. Holly’s father was Aiden Benfield, a local attorney. Benfield’s father is dead, his name wsa Bradley Benfield.” Lilith then produces another newspaper clipping and hands it to Clyde. He eagerly takes it and starts skimming through it. He puts the newspaper clipping down and sighs out of frustration.
“Another obituary.” He remarks stoically. “Sarah Sharpe…killed in a shootout.”
“Yes, getting killed in gunfire tends to be a risk you run when you are a petty thief, which is precisely what Ms. Sharpe was; if you read more closely you will note that her father was Lawrence Sharpe. He was a successful businessman.”
“Fascinating.” Clyde says with sarcasm dripping from his voice. “But again…what does any of this have to do with my father, with Ethan Sutter?”
“Our father.”
“Whatever.”
“Holly James and Susan Sharper were not the biological children of Aiden Benfield and Lawrence Sharpe. Mr. Benfield and Mr. Sharpe adopted them.” She shakes her head. “Clearly they did not care much for the girls. Neither did their biological father, who pretty much left their future in the hands of…dare I say…Fate itself?”
So who WAS their father?”
“Oh my dear brother, have you not even guessed?” She asks with a light chuckle. “Their father was Ethan Sutter.”
This bombshell revelation hits Clyde Sutter like a mack truck. Despite his typical emotionless demeanor, his eyes grow wide with shock and surprise. Then he quickly regains composure. The surprise turns to anger, partly directed at Lilith who gave him this news and partly directed at their father Ethan Sutter.
“You’re lying.”
“I am not lying.” Lilith shakes her head. “I wish I was but everything I am telling you is the truth. Our father had many fake ID’s. He knew how to work the system.”
“Is that how you became such a successful crime boss?” Clyde asks with a sneer.
“Everything I learned was on my own, believe me.” There is a hint of righteous indignation in Lilith’s voice. “Our father had many children, scattering them all over the place; some intentionally placed, others dropped off at random without a care for whether they lived or died. Our father was a bit of a chauvinist. He tried to set up his male heirs for success. He would keep track of his sons and do his best to guarantee that they would survive and thrive. The females were left for dead. I was one of the lucky few who survived.”
“No, that cannot be true.” He shakes his head. “My mother told me she ran away from Ethan. She ran away after giving birth to me and she dropped me off at the orphanage knowing Ethan would never find me. Are you suggesting my mother lied to me? That she is part of this giant conspiracy of yours?”
“Your mother is telling you what she believes the truth to be.” Lilith says calmly, despite Clyde’s growing anger. “She thought that she had escaped. She thought she had gotten you to safety. But that orphanage where she dropped you off? Ethan had spies within it. Ethan was able to continue monitoring you and he continued to keep track of you so to ensure you thrived and succeeded in life.”
“If he wanted me to succeed in life how the hell did I end up on the streets as a drug enforcer?!” Clyde exclaims angrily.
“Our father had connections everywhere. Many prominent families worked with him. At least one helped you get off the streets and into professional wrestling.”
“Bullshit.” Clyde states coldly. “I joined the Braddock Wrestling School on my own. I got accepted on my own.”
“And your temper and inability to control your violent tendencies got you kicked out. Most promoters would never have hired you after that black mark. Yet someone got your foot in the door with Supreme Championship Wrestling on the premise that they wanted to get revenge on Glory Braddock yet, in reality, they were paying up a debt their family owed to our father.”
“Mason Van Stanton.” Clyde says quietly, as he realizes that is precisely the individual Lilith is referring to.
“See? You are a very smart boy.”
“So I am…my father’s design? I am not some accident?”
“I never said any of that.” Lilith sighs. “I merely am telling you the facts; our father set you up for success. He guaranteed it. It was Fate, a concept BOTH of you believed in.”
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May 17th, 2026
London, England
On Camera
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They say that pride comes before a fall. Scripture says that pride was the first and greatest of sins. Pride led to the fall of humanity. Arrogance led the devil being banished from heaven. Arrogance led to humanity being banished from paradise. Thus I must say that humanity is truly arrogant and prideful if it believes that it can question, nay CHALLENGE, the will of Fate.
Ms. MacDonald, did you truly believe that you were finished with me simply because you escaped our match as the Television Champion? Despite everything you tried, Ms. MacDonald, you still FAILED to defeat me. Therefore our business is not over. You are not done dealing with The Assassin until Fate says so. Retribution was merely a reality check. It served as a reminder that you still have a date with Fate itself. You owe Fate and Fate will collect. It always collects. And Ms. Carsons, I am certain that one day you will make for a great champion in Supreme Championship Wrestling, but as good as you are, not even you can challenge the will of Fate. Do not fall for the same trap that Ms. MacDonald has fallen for, do not become as arrogant as she; pride comes before a fall and if you are prideful enough to believe that you can change the will of Fate then you, like Ms. MacDonald, will fall.
This is my time, the time of The Assassin, not yours.
Speaking of pride, I must now address my rather arrogant and prideful opposition…none other than Chris Lawler.
Here we are again, Mr. Lawler; did you miss me? How many times have we had this battle already, Mr. Lawler? Now it may be true that you seem to have my number, it is equally true that everything I have ever said about you, about Fate, is true. The last time we met you spoke to me about legacy and I told you that you are not in control of your legacy. I warned you that Fate was in control of your legacy. I warned you that Fate had its own plans for you and that your pathetic desire to change your legacy would fail.
You lost the Television Title.
You failed to win the Adrenaline Title.
You failed to earn a shot at the Underground Title.
Every single attempt you have made to keep yourself relevant has come up empty. As a matter of fact, Mr. Lawler, you should really thank Simon Lyman. Were it not for him attacking you at Retribution, you would have no relevancy right now.
So is it becoming quite clear to you yet, Mr. Lawler? Are you beginning to see the writing on the walls of your career? Fate has indeed mapped everything out for you and your legacy. Unfortunately, Fate’s plans are not what you had hoped for; Fate has dictated that your once bright and shining light would slowly but surely get snuffed out. Fate has dictated that the once legendary Chris Lawler would be cast into the dustbin of irrelevancy.
It is my task to carry out Fate’s will. So it is my task to put you down, to put you in the ground, and perhaps it shall be my distinct honor and privilege to put an end to the very career of the once great Chris Lawler?
I do pity you, Mr. Lawler. Despite our differences I do respect you as a competitor. Yet you came back to SCW with rose colored glasses, foolishly refusing to see the evidence before your very eyes that Fate no longer favored you, that Fate had only misery and failure in mind for you. Had you been more open to the truth then perhaps you could have braced yourself for these difficult times. Yet you have had to endure defeat after defeat, creating a mental and emotional turmoil that no competitor should have to endure.
And it is all your own fault. All of it is on you. And on Breakdown, when we meet, when I choke you unconscious, when I squeeze the very breath out of your body, that will be your fault as well. It will be your fault because you ignored the warnings of Fate.
Your Fate, Mr. Lawler, is sealed.
RE: Clyde Sutter vs. Chris Lawler - The Assassin - 04-02-2026
2 of 2
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May 18th, 2026
Yorkshire, England
Off Camera
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The meeting hall stood at the end of a narrow dirt lane, half reclaimed by nature and half forgotten by everyone except the occasional wanderer who passed through rural Yorkshire with more curiosity than purpose. The structure itself had once been proud, now it sagged under the weight of time. The roof had lost tiles in uneven patches, allowing thin shafts of afternoon light to pierce through wherever the clouds shifted. Moss climbed in soft green blankets up the stone walls, and ivy had crept its way across the old wooden door, curling like fingers around a long silent entrance. Inside, the air was cool with the faint scent of damp wood and untouched dust. The place felt as though it had been sealed away for decades, left to slumber in its own stillness. Rows of wooden benches, warped and splintered by age, lined the sides of the rectangular hall. They were arranged haphazardly, some pushed aside by time or collapsed under their own weakened supports. In the center of the room lay a stretch of worn floorboards, their grain faded from countless footsteps that had once crossed them. Every sound, even the softest shuffle of a boot, echoed faintly, carried by the empty, hollow space that seemed to hold on to every noise as if starved for voices. Tall windows stood on either side of the hall, their panes clouded by dust and streaked with rain that had seeped through countless storms. Only a few clear patches allowed glimpses of the countryside outside. The fields stretched out in muted winter colors, textured with low stone walls and framed by the faint blue shadow of distant hills.
Clyde Sutter stepped further inside, his tall, muscular frame filling the doorway for a moment before he moved into the center of the hall. He looked almost too solid, too alive, for a place so still. His long black hair, tied loosely at the nape of his neck, caught the stray beams of light that broke through the roof. He wore a thick dark jacket over a plain gray shirt, the fabric stretched comfortably across his broad chest. His jeans were sturdy and worn, the color faded by long use and the occasional brush with rough terrain. Mud clung to the edges of his boots. Behind him, Lilith Sutter stepped across the threshold with a markedly different presence. She paused in the entrance for just a moment, taking in the lingering calm of the room. Her long black hair, glossy and impeccably smooth, looked almost out of place against the rustic ruin of the hall. She had dressed with her usual sense of elegance, even for a day spent in such an isolated place. A fitted wool coat in a deep wine color wrapped around her frame, tailored perfectly to her slim shoulders and narrow waist. Beneath it, a pale cashmere sweater complemented the softness of her expression while a long skirt in a flowing dark fabric moved lightly around her ankles with each step. Her heeled boots were clearly not made for the countryside, but she carried herself as though the uneven floorboards were no challenge at all. Lilith brushed a gloved hand lightly over the nearest bench as she passed it, her touch sending up a faint puff of dust that drifted lazily in the quiet air.
Together they walked deeper into the hall, the echo of their footsteps overlapping in the vast, hollow room. Droplets of water fell steadily from one of the gaps in the ceiling, hitting a metal bucket left behind by someone long before, the rhythmic sound filling the silence like a slow, steady heartbeat. An old notice board leaned crookedly against the far wall, its once colorful flyers now brittle, faded, and curling at the edges. A forgotten broom rested in the corner, its bristles scattered and broken. Clyde paused near the center of the hall, where the boards beneath his boots creaked in protest. He studied the space with a focused expression, as though trying to picture the hall in its former life when voices and movement had filled it rather than dust and ghosts of memory. Lilith came to stand beside him, her coat brushing lightly against his sleeve, her gaze drifting upward to the beams overhead where cobwebs hung like delicate veils.
“Such a pleasant place, wouldn’t you agree?” Lilith asks with a note of sarcasm in her voice. Clyde, however, is not in the mood for her games today.
“You know, sister, I have endured your cryptic nonsense for a long time now.” He begins. “I have endured it because I really wanted answers about my father…”
“Our father.”
“Whatever. I wanted answers, you had them, and I wanted them. I promised I would endure your games to get them. So far you have taken me to the abandoned orphanage where I grew up, an old pub where we scared a homeless man half to death, the records office, and now here, to this abandoned building that appears as if it could fall in at any second.”
“And with each stop I have revealed more and more of the truth.” Lilith points out. “I have kept up my end of the bargain.”
“Yes and the truth I am hearing is not to my liking.”
“I never said the truth would be easy.” She states. “I just said it would be the truth.”
A breeze slipped through one of the cracked windowpanes, carrying with it the faint scent of cold earth and distant chimney smoke from a farmhouse far beyond view. It stirred loose strands of Lilith’s hair and ruffled the hem of Clyde’s jacket. The temperature in the hall remained cool, bordering on cold, but neither sibling seemed eager to leave. The remote, forgotten nature of the place gave them a rare privacy, a sense that whatever brought them here could be discussed without interruption from the outside world. The last of the afternoon light slanted across the floor, painting long, angled shapes that slowly stretched toward dusk. The hall felt suspended in time, waiting, holding its breath. Clyde shifted his weight, his boots scraping softly against the boards. Lilith turned her head toward him, her expression composed but carrying an undertone of anticipation, as if she knew the moment for words had finally arrived.
“I need to travel back to the United States soon. My beloved is waiting on me. We have to be ready for Breakdown. I have to fight and defeat Chris Lawler. That pissant is owed a beating.”
“Here I thought you only cared about Fate?” Lilith asks. “Isn’t it up to Fate whether you beat up Mr. Lawler?”
“He WILL get a beating!” Sutter snaps angrily. He pauses and takes in a deep breath to compose himself. He refuses to let his sister get to him. “Yes, I want to win, and I WILL win. This is why your games need to end, so I can focus on the task at hand. So do tell me, sister, will the games end this evening? Will I finally get the truth out of you?”
“Yes, you shall.”
“Good.”
“First of all, it is time to clear up some rumors. You spoke of a cult.”
“Yes.” The Assassin nods his head. “The rumors were that Ethan Sutter…our father…ran this strange cult and that he used his influence as its charismatic leader to take advantage of the female members.”
“Did that rumor create some of the anger and rage built up inside of you?”
“I admit that it did bother me, yes.” He nods his head. “And from what you have told me, that our father had so many connections to wealthy people, that he apparently had numerous children from numerous mistresses, it seems as if it could be true.”
“Well there is a kernel of truth to every myth.” Lilith states.
“Was he part of a cult? Yes or no.” Clyde demands, growing more frustrated.
“Some might call it a cult due to their strange behaviors and odd rituals but it wasn’t religious.” She shakes her head. “It was far from anything that resembled an organized religious force.”
“So what was it?”
“I would compare it to the Manson Family.”
“Charles Manson and his gang?”
“Yes, them.” Lilith nods her head. “Our father began as more of a teacher than a leader. He taught about fate and fatalism just as fiercely as you do today.”
“Bloody hell…” Clyde snarls. He cannot believe that he seems to have become his father, the very man he hated for abandoning him. But the story is not over. Lilith continues.
“Everyone began looking up to him almost in a spiritual sense. They were willing to do anything for him. So Ethan had his devoted followers committing crimes to create a financial power base.”
“So it was a bastardized mix of a cult and organized crime?”
“You could put it that way.” Lilith nods her head in agreement. “Certain members of Ethan’s organization worked at the orphanage where your mother left you. That’s how our father kept track of you.”
“Something still doesn’t add up.” He shakes his head. “If our father was simply the charismatic leader of a Manson family like gang, how did they have enough money to create the kind of powerbase you described to me? How could they keep track of his male children? How do you create the kind of connections you claim he had? You don’t create that kind of a powerful organization through petty crime.”
“You’re right, you don’t grow to be that powerful through petty crime.” Lilith shakes her head. “Cults and gangs like Ethan’s are a draw for children who do not feel accepted by society or who want to run away to escape their problems. One such runaway was a teenage girl who wanted to escape her own very dangerous life.”
“And she thought joining our father’s gang would be safe?” Clyde asks incredulously. Lilith smirks knowingly.
“It might be just as safe or safer than being the daughter of a mafia crime boss.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, the girl was a powerful mob boss’s daughter. She kept it hidden from our father but when he finally learned her secret he sent her back to her father.”
“Let me guess…her father was so grateful that he gave him access to some of his own mafia resources?”
“Indeed.”
There is a tension in the air as The Assassin begins pacing the floor. His anger boils over and he punches the wall angrily.
“Damn it!”
“Calm yourself.” Lilith insists. “I never said the truth would be easy.”
“You do not understand!” He exclaims. “I never wanted to become like him! Yet here I am, just like him…”
“Only in the sense that you both seem obsessed with fate.” Lilith points out. “Also do not act like the victim here; you were gifted opportunity because you were a son. I was a daughter and therefore was ignored. Be grateful.”
“Yes…” he sighs “...you are correct. I apologize. But hearing this and accepting this is not easy.”
“No, it isn’t; it wasn’t easy for me, either. This is why when I first approached you I insistsed upon you taking up the mantle as the chosen heir, because I believed that is what our father would have wanted. But your stubborn refusal helped to open my eyes to the realization that we do not have to be like our father. We can be different. We do not have to follow in his footsteps.”
“What are you implying?”
“I still wish to work you, brother.” She places a hand upon his shoulder. “The organization I created, that I inherited from the ruins of our father’s empire, has a great many resources to offer that can help you and The Vision both.”
“So you wish to help me? And my beloved? And Fiona?”
“That is what I said.” She nods her head. “Following your career has given me an interest in professional wrestling as a potential new business venture, one I would like to dip my toe in. If you would like a partner, that is?”
“I…” he sighs and shakes his head “...I’m not sure. I have a lot to think about. I would also have to discuss this with Fiona and my beloved Melinda.”
“Of course.” She nods her head. “There is absolutely no rush. Take all the time you need before giving me an answer.”