Syren vs. Clyde Sutter

[Konrad Raab]

Underground Rules

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Limit Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Wednesday, June 18, 2025

[The Assassin]

1 of 2
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June 9th, 2025
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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The low, flickering neon of a battered “OPEN” sign bled through the grime-streaked windows of the dive bar in the shadowy underbelly of Miami’s outskirts. The heat outside was oppressive, the kind that stuck to the skin but inside the bar it was even worse; humid, stale, and saturated with decades of cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and the sweat of forgotten souls. The ceiling fan overhead groaned with every lazy rotation, stirring the thick air just enough to keep it from settling into a suffocating blanket. Dim amber bulbs cast a gloomy light across the chipped wood paneling, and the jukebox in the corner, stuck perpetually on low, rasped out an old song like a smoker with a grudge. Clyde Sutter sat hunched at the far end of the long, battered bar, his tall frame folded awkwardly onto a stool that creaked with the burden of his weight. He looked like a man who had wandered into the wrong decade and decided to stay. Long black hair spilled past his shoulders in unruly waves, half-tamed with a leather cord that tied it loosely at the nape of his neck. A tight black tank top clung to his muscular frame, revealing powerful shoulders. His jeans were dark and dusted with grit and scuffed boots. Behind the bar, the bartender moved with the tired grace of someone who had poured more whiskey than water in her life. Her name was Reina. Her curly hair was tied back in a messy bun, and her eyes were sharp, blue, and eternally unimpressed. She wore cutoff jeans and a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. She slid a fresh glass in front of Clyde with a practiced flick of her wrist, the cheap bourbon sloshing gently within it.

“There you go. Your favorite.” Reina remarked with a smile. Clyde didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He lifted the glass, took a sip, and let the bourbon burn its way down his throat like a promise. Reina studies him closely before speaking. “Where’s Melinda?”

“Not here tonight.” He answered quickly.

“That’s obvious.” Reina answered. “But you two are practically inseparable. It is rather odd to see you here alone with your main squeeze.”

“There is a first time for everything.” Sutter answers, yet another short response. Reina, being an experienced bartender, knows when to press for more information and when not to; she decides to drop the subject. She turns to walk off but then Clyde taps on the bar, getting her attention. She turns around.

“Another bourbon.” He states commandingly.

“Already?” She says skeptically. “You haven’t even finished that one.”

“It isn’t for me.”

“Oh…so Melinda is coming?”

“I didn’t say that, now did I?”

“Fair enough.” Reina shrugs her shoulders. She turns back around and proceeds to fill the order. It isn’t her place to ask too many questions. The Assassin rarely causes any problems. There is no need to assume he, or his guest, will cause any problems here. Reina finishes with the bourbon and places the glass of beverage down in the seat next to Clyde. He nods his head in a sign of appreciation.

The old wooden door gave a long, groaning protest as it swung open, drawing the attention of precisely no one—except Clyde. He didn’t turn his head, didn’t move a muscle, but his dark eyes flicked to the streak of late afternoon light that bled into the room like a spotlight. It was broken a moment later by a jittery figure stepping inside, silhouetted briefly in the doorway before the door shut behind him with a hollow thud, returning the dive to its dim hush. It was Joey, Sutter’s old friend. He stood there for a beat, blinking against the gloom, the sharp angles of his frame twitching like a cornered animal. He was wiry, almost boyish in build, swimming in a hoodie that was too big for his slight shoulders and clung to his damp frame with humidity. Sweat glistened along his brow, and his thin chest rose and fell quickly beneath the fabric. His jeans were worn, one knee torn clean through, revealing a pale knobby joint that quivered slightly with each step. Every movement was a stutter; jerky, uncertain, as if he were perpetually ready to bolt. His eyes, large, restless, darting, scanned the bar with a mixture of suspicion and dread. He exhaled only when he spotted Clyde at the end of the counter. Shoulders sagging, he all but tiptoed across the warped floorboards, flinching slightly at the sound of his own footfalls.

When he reached the bar, he didn’t sit at first. Just stood there beside Clyde, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scratching at the back of his neck with bitten-down nails. His breath smelled faintly of stale coffee and the coppery tang of fear. Reina cast him a sidelong glance from behind the bar. “That your friend?” she murmured to Clyde, voice low but not gentle.

Clyde still didn’t look at her. He gave the barest nod and tapped his knuckle twice on the bar; an unspoken signal. Reina grunted, and then walked away. Joey finally slid onto the stool next to Clyde, hunched forward, elbows on the bar, fingers twitching against the scarred wood like they were trying to drum out a warning. He didn’t speak right away, just looked sideways at Clyde, waiting for some sign that it was safe to open his mouth. The air between them felt taut, a live wire of unfinished business and unspoken tension.

“You’re late.” Clyde states quickly but sternly.

“Sorry buddy but, uh, things haven’t been great lately.” He twitches nervously. Clyde chuckles.

“You seem nervous. Well, more nervous than usual.” He looks over at Joey and, finally, cracks a smile. “Is everything ok?”

“No, not at all.” Joey shakes his head vehemently. “I think I’m being followed!”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Ever since you had me do that job for ya, digging into your crazy sister and her criminal organization and all that shit, ever since I began scoping her out, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m now the target, that I am being followed.”

“You’re paranoid.” Sutter snaps coldly, dismissing Joey’s concerns with an instant. “If this is why you brought me out here then you wasted your time.”

“I’m not paranoid!”

“Drink the bourbon.” Clyde motions to the glass sitting in front of him. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

“I am NOT paranoid.” Joey insists. He takes the glass and quickly down its and then places the glass back down on the bar hard. “You know that your sister is a powerful crime boss.”

“Powerful?” Clyde chuckles. “I would hardly consider her powerful. My sister is cut off from all of her resources. American and British law enforcement are after her due to her connection to the murder of Archie Van Stanton. As a result, she has been forced to flee to Russia, the only nation willing to give her asylum, the only place who will not extradite her.”

“You think you’re so smart.” Joey shakes his head. “But I’m the one in danger.”

“You need to quit worrying, Joseph.”

“Joey!”

“Whatever.” Sutter shakes his head. “Do tell me, Joey, is this what brings you to Miami? Is this why brought me out here this evening? You want me to protect you?”

“Damn right I am!” Joey exclaims. He points a finger at The Assassin. “You put me in this situation! You put me in danger by having me stalk your sister! I am much safer here than I am in Europe where most of her connections are! You put me up to this, so you’re gonna protect me!”

“I refuse to protect you.” Clyde shakes his head.

“You owe me.” Despite The Assassin’s intimidating presence, Joey is standing up to his friend. “I put my neck out there for you. You wanted me to snoop around some crime boss’s organization and I did. You owe me, Clyde.” His argument falls upon deaf ears as Sutter shakes his head.

“I do not need you any longer, Joey.”

“Oh come on!” Joey is beginning to sound desperate. “After everything we’ve been through! We’ve known each other since we were kids! We were brought up on the streets together! And when you needed me, I was there for you! Give me a break! Help me!”

The Assassin is growing tired of hearing Joey begging and pleading. Sutter rolls his eyes and finally relents, mainly just to shut Joey up.

Fine…I will help.”

“Thank you! Thank…” Sutter holds up a hand to shut him up.

“Quiet.” He remarks. “Listen. I have an apartment in Charlotte, North Carolina that I no longer use. My former agent, Mason Van Stanton, purchased it for me back when we were still working together. You can stay there until the heat dies down and you are safe to return to England.”

“You mean it?” Joey asks hopefully. “I mean, you’re not gonna need it.”

“I rarely go to Charlotte.” Clyde shakes his head. “I only go when I am visiting my mother who lives nearby. The apartment is yours if you want it.”

“I’ll take it!” Joey answers instantly. “Thank you so much, Clyde! I knew I could count on you!”

“Whatever.” Sutter rolls his eyes as he turns his attention back to his drink. He motions towards Reina. The bartender immediately knows what Sutter wants, as if they were reading each other’s thoughts. A few moments later she returns with another drink that she gives to Joey. Joey takes it eagerly and drinks it up.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“I told you that the bourbon would ease your nerves, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.” Joey smirks. “Uh, what about you, though? I mean, I’ve been a nervous wreck since investigating your sister. But YOU were her real target. I can only imagine what you’ve been busy doing since all of this went down.”

“I haven’t thought much about her, honestly.” Clyde answers. Joey arches his brow out of surprise.

“You’re screwing with me?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I am letting the authorities handle this while I move on with my life.”

“I don’t believe you.” Joey shakes his head. “You aren’t the kinda guy to let something like that go so easily.”

“Believe it.” Clyde states. “Remember my girlfriend, Melinda?”

“Yeah.” He nods his head. “What about her?”

“We’re getting engaged. I proposed and she said yes.” Sutter smirks knowingly. “How is that for moving on with my life?”

“No kidding?” Joey chuckles. “You are one big surprise tonight, Clyde. Not only are you being a good law abiding citizen for once in your life but you are ready to let go of the crazy days of your youth to settle down as a husband.”

“People change, Joey.” Sutter states. “It is Fate.”

“Well I’m proud of ya, buddy.” Joey pats him on the back. “I wish you and your girl the best.”

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June 16th, 2025
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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The relentless Miami sun dipped low behind a curtain of swaying palms as Clyde Sutter steered his dusty black motorcycle off the quiet residential street and up the immaculately paved driveway. The neighborhood was a pristine pocket of wealth, where every one-story modern home stood like a gallery piece behind tall hedges and security gates, the architectural style equal parts South Beach gloss and minimalist European charm. Clyde, with his worn leather jacket, road-weary boots, and wind-tossed black hair, looked like an oil stain on white marble amid the polished affluence of the cul-de-sac. He killed the engine and dismounted, brushing a hand through his dark hair as he stared up at the home before him; a sleek, flat-roofed structure of white stone, glass, and brushed metal. The kind of house that whispered money without shouting it, that exhaled confidence without the need to impress. Clyde adjusted his sleeves, straightened his posture, and walked up the path of pale, geometric stones flanked by small, tasteful gardens. Each step thudded with a strange weight in his chest. He was not welcome here. Not really. But he needed to be here. This was the home of Glory Braddock, the woman who did not trust him, and yet would soon be his mother-in-law. The door opened before he could knock. Glory Braddock stood there, her silhouette framed by cool interior light and the subtle hum of air conditioning escaping past her. She wore tailored white slacks and a navy blouse that fit her tall, elegant frame with practiced perfection. Her blonde hair, swept into a loose twist, gleamed like gold in the evening sun. Her eyes, a clear and piercing grey-blue, narrowed slightly as they fell on him.Clyde offered the smallest of smiles.

“Ms. Braddock…”

Her lips parted but she said nothing at first. Her gaze flicked down to the scuffed toe of his boot and back up, as if tallying sins. A long second passed before she stepped aside with crisp reluctance.

“I suppose you’d better come in.”

He nodded once and crossed the threshold. The interior was cool and quiet, a temple of order and refinement. The foyer opened into a wide, open concept space flooded with natural light. The furniture was sleek and tastefully neutral: white leather couches, glass tables, and a modern fireplace embedded in a marble accent wall. Clyde followed her into the living room, the subtle scent of citrus and fresh flowers lingering in the air. She gestured toward the couch without looking at him, then walked to a sideboard and began pouring herself a glass of wine. No offer extended to him. He sat, his presence feeling too solid in a room that seemed to float above reality. Glory turned finally, glass in hand, and sat on the edge of a cream-colored armchair opposite him. Her posture was regal, her expression unreadable.

“So,” she said, voice clipped and clear “you’re marrying my daughter.”

“Yes.” He nods his head.

“You’re wasting your time.” Glory remarks coldly. “There isn’t really anything to discuss. You two are getting married and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop it. So why are you even here? Why waste time talking to me? Breakdown is coming up. You’re facing Syren in Underground Rules. You’re good enough to beat her, Clyde.” She shakes her head. “You’re not good enough to convince me that this marriage will work out.”

“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities.” Sutter admits with a nod of his head. “We both have equal disdain for Syren and yet even you admit how talented she is; the fact that you believe I have the gifts necessary to defeat her is humbling.”

“You WERE trained at the Braddock Wrestling School, so you were trained by the best.” Glory remarks with a hint of arrogance. “Besides, it is Underground Rules. You can do whatever you want to her without any fear of being disqualified. The odds should be in your favor. Still, if you want my advice, you should focus on that match…you have those idiots Lexy and Ravyn to worry about too. Focus on that match, a goal you can achieve. You can achieve nothing by being here today.”

“You may be right, Ms. Braddock,” Clyde nods his head “the wiser move would be to ignore this rift between the two of us, continue to let you fume and rage, whilst I focus my efforts on Breakdown. But despite what you may believe about me, I have matured and grown quite a bit since you kicked me out of your wrestling school. I understand that there are things more important in life than winning and losing.”

“Let me guess…Fate?” Glory asks, scoffing.

“Yes. But also love…and your daughter, my beloved, she loves me. And I love her. We are going to start a life together and I only want the best for her. I want to make her happy. Part of that means you and I being on good terms.”

“You’re asking for quite a bit, mate.” Glory states cooly. “I let you train at my wrestling school only to learn that not only were you violently abusing other students but you were sneaking out in secret with my daughter.” The British Bombshell’s anger starts to drip from her voice as she recalls his past. “Then I learned that you were physically abusing my daughter and even got her hooked on drugs. She healed from the abuse…she beat the addictions…but then for some ungodly reason she still wanted to take you back.” She shakes her head. “Sorry if I'm not ready to trust you yet, Clyde.”

“I did all of those things.” He nods his head. “But I was a different man then and I have changed.” His voice cracks as he seems to get slightly emotional. “I am ashamed of who I was and of what I did to my beloved. I have now dedicated everything to making it up to her. Every single penny I make as a wrestler is dedicated to making Melinda’s life one of comfort and luxury. Little to nothing goes to my own comfort because I do not deserve it.”

There is a tense pause as Sutter stares into the eyes of his future mother-in-law. He isn’t sure what she is thinking but he senses some cracks in her defenses. Braddock sighs and shakes her head.

“Look, Clyde, you really are wasting your time here. If you want, you are more than welcome to train in our basement gym. Kurt isn’t here, and he wouldn’t mind anyway. Prepare for Syren. She is a multi-time world champion. Beating her would help your standing within the company. Focus on that. Don’t focus on this…” her voice trails off.

“If you hated me as much as you pretend to, why do you care so much about my career?”

“You are going to be marrying my daughter. It’s important that you are a success…for her sake.”

“Is that all?” Clyde asks, skeptically. “For her sake?”

“Look,” she sighs “I admit, I can tell that Melinda loves you. I don’t understand why she would take you back after everything you two have been through, but she did and she loves you. And I will even admit that I was impressed with the lengths you went to find out who was behind the drive by shooting of Archie Van Stanton.”

“I did it all for Melinda.”

“I trust my daughter’s judgment.” She shakes her head. “But trusting you will take some time. Just know one thing, Clyde…if you ever hurt her again…I will kill you.”

[Syren]

Kind of fun that this is my 399th Syren RP. I know it's been a long time, but... it's so far by far more than I've ever done for a character. Hopefully #400 tomorrow!

Enjoy.



The Syren Song: Verse 399
"Kind of brutal, right?"

[The Assassin]

2 of 2
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June 18th, 2025
Rochester, New York
On Camera
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The soft twilight paints the sky in gentle hues of lavender and blue, casting a serene glow over the historic red brick buildings of Rochester, New York that line the street behind them. Street lamps flicker to life, their golden light creating a warm, intimate ambiance that contrasts beautifully with the encroaching shadows of night. Clyde Sutter commands attention with his imposing figure and powerful presence. He is dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and muscular frame. His crisp white shirt and black tie add a sharp, classic touch to his formal look. His long, dark hair is slicked back, revealing a strong jawline framed by a neatly groomed beard. Clyde’s expression is calm but focused, his dark eyes locked on his beloved, his fiance Melinda Braddock with a mixture of quiet intensity and guarded affection. Melinda Braddock stands beside him in elegant contrast, embodying grace and sophistication. Her black dress is timeless and refined, with slender straps and a fitted bodice that flows into a gently pleated skirt, falling just above her ankles. The satin like sheen of the fabric catches the light softly, emphasizing her delicate form. Her platinum blonde hair is styled in polished retro curls that frame her porcelain face with a touch of vintage glamour. Melinda’s expression is composed yet curious, her wide eyes meeting Clyde’s with a quiet strength that belies her youthful appearance. The young Third Generation Goddess turns to face the camera. A look of sheer smug arrogance forms across her lovely face.

“I find it entertaining to see the various reactions people have when Fate smacks them in the face with reality. Because Fate, after all, is reality. It is the ultimate reality check. Just look at Taking Hold of the Flame. Thirty nine of the forty competitors entered that battle royal with false overconfidence, false hope that they would be victorious, that it would be their night to claim the golden ticket and march into Rise To Greatness and challenge for the SCW World Title. Fate has a funny, sick, and oftentimes twisted sense of humor, as evidenced when it did not even allow one singular person to lay claim to that coveted prize. It forced two to share in it. Then Fate further twisted that dagger into their hearts when a particular Snow Queen decided to insert herself into the Rise To Greatness main event without even having to win Taking Hold of the Flame. Yet still there are those who threw a tantrum after being eliminated from the battle royal, despite the now obvious proof that they would not have had their precious solo Rise To Greatness main event anyway.” Braddock points a finger at the camera.

“Chance Owens. You made your grand return at Taking Hold of the Flame and what a story it would have been if you had won it all? It would have been a talked about story within the annals of SCW lore for years to come. But that was a fantasy and as I said, Fate is the ultimate reality check. Fate had other plans for you and my fiance, Fate’s Chosen Assassin, merely did the will of Fate by executing you. It was every man for himself, Chance. What did you expect Clyde to do? Let you have your glorious moment in the sun? Had someone else did the deed…say Polly or Enigma or Ryan…would you have jumped them? Think about this, genius. Even had you won Taking Hold of the Flame, Selena Frost still would have used her contract, she still would have inserted herself in the main event of Rise To Greatness, and you STILL would not have had your one on one SCW World Title match. So please, Chance, by all means, explain to myself and Clyde why you threw that childish, immature tantrum? Better yet, explain why you made the worst mistake of your career by provoking Fate’s Chosen Assassin.” Melinda sneers. Clyde Sutter chuckles before planting a kiss on her forehead.

“You are quite right, my beloved; Fate is the ultimate reality check. It keeps people humble. It brings the arrogant down low. It reminds the power hungry scum of the earth who use, abuse, and manipulate others that they are not in control…FATE is in control. It always has been and it always will be. While you were entertained by Mr. Owens and the tantrum he threw after spectacularly failing in his return to in-ring action, I was far more entertained by the so-called greatest wrestler ever falling flat on her face yet again. Now when you mention ‘greatest wrestler’ you might obviously be referring to the world champion, Mr. Aries. Or even one of the two battle royal winners, Mr. Valentine or Mr. Turner. Even Ms. Frost should be considered in the conversation, despite how hated she is right now.” He points a finger at the camera.

“But you, Syren, you are most certainly not in that conversation. It is exactly as myself, and Fate, predicted; you made your bold, ridiculous claims about winning Taking Hold of the Flame and you failed. You promised to win it all this year and you blew it. How many years in a row have you failed, Syren? How many broken promises? Here is a better question; how many times will you make the rest of us suffer through your insufferable nonsense before you finally grant the entire world its one wish from you; quit? How long until you do us all a favor and just quit? Do a little introspection, Syren. Look into a mirror. Look at the writing on the wall and see where you currently stand. You are locked in a bitter feud not with someone of high standing within SCW like a Josh Hudson, James Evans, or a Selena Frost. You are not even feuding with my future mother-in-law Glory Braddock. You are feuding with Meghan Strader.” He chuckles knowingly.

“Now that isn’t a shot at Ms. Strader; I recognize her own past, experience, and reputation. But she is still very new to SCW. You are scheduled for an Underground Rules Match against yours truly. I am not going to be like some and pridefully claim to be better than you, to have surpassed you. I am still very new to SCW and recognize that I have a long way to go. Yet here you are, supposedly the best ever…in your own words…and you are facing me, the new kid, on Breakdown. This isn’t even our first time, Syren. We did battle once before and I had you dead to rights but you needed help to win. You needed Ravyn to help you cheat on your behalf. Do you see it now, Syren? If not then I will gladly spell it out for you.” Fate’s Chosen Assassin sneers nastily at the camera.

“You are on a downward spiral. Those marquee matches and legendary feuds you used to be a part of are but a memory and there is no sign of any future ones in sight. Even your friend, your ally, Mr. Desoubrais, even with his powers as COO cannot shield you. Even he cannot protect you from slowly but surely sliding down the card. Even Mr. Desoubrais cannot save you from your slow but sure transition from greatness to irrelevance. Because as great as you have been in your career, and as many opponents as you have beaten in your career, there is one opponent you cannot defeat and will not defeat…and I am not referring to Ms. Strader or even to myself.” He shakes his head.

“I am referring, of course, to Fate. You cannot defeat Fate, Syren, and Fate has singled you out for elimination. Fate has decided that your time in the spotlight has come to an end. Whether it is myself or Ms. Strader or someone else, you will be eliminated from this industry soon, very soon, and the people will forget about you. They will no longer care about you. The best thing, the wisest thing you could do would be to just walk away while you still have some career records and legendary memories for the unwashed masses to remember you by. But instead of doing the smart thing you are choosing to do the foolish thing; you are choosing to tempt Fate. Fate does not like to be tempted. Just ask Mr. Brock and Ms. Lecavalier what happened when they tempted Fate.” He laughs again.

“Oh, I apologize, I forgot that you are too good to ask other people for advice. People like you, Syren, look down on everyone else. You believe everyone else is beneath you. You have this false sense of entitlement, as if you are better than everyone else and the entire laughing world owes you something. The world owes you nothing, Syren, and Fate definitely owes you nothing. Yet you continue to tempt Fate and now Fate has decided to punish you with this Underground Rules Match; a style most violent, most brutal, and where there are no limitations to the amount of brutality I can inflict. This is a match where I do not have to worry about keeping myself contained. I can do anything I want and no one can stop me, for that is the nature of the Underground. Fate has gifted me with the match I needed in order to put the dagger right through your damn heart.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, babe.” Melinda remarks, laughing nastily. “This is an Underground Rules Match and you are facing a monster. You are facing a certifiable loose cannon. I usually stick around to keep his temper in check. I would hate for him to get disqualified, right? But there are no disqualifications in the Underground. You can do anything you want in the Underground. There are no rules. There are no limitations. Fate’s Chosen Assassin can choose to break you in half in any way he wants and the referee cannot stop him. That’s not even the worst of it. I mean, consider your predicament, Syren. How many people in this locker room have you pissed off? How many people in the locker room hate you and would love nothing more than to see your complete and utter demise? Spoiler: everyone. Now granted, most of them are busy with other problems heading into Rise To Greatness but you have Strader and the Cowgirls from Hell who want your head on a platter. You are facing Fate’s Chosen Assassin and he has me in his corner and I am a trained wrestler in my own right. Who exactly do you have in your corner? Two washed up hacks with only one brain between the two of them.” Braddock looks up at Sutter and smirks. “It doesn’t seem very fair, does it babe?”

“No it doesn’t.” Sutter answers back. “Then again, no one ever said that Fate was fair. Fate does not consider fairness or equality. Fate does what it wants. Fate has put you in a very dangerous match against me, Syren, in this situation where you might not even make it to Rise To Greatness. You are in a situation where your enemies could choose to take you out in one night.” He snaps his fingers. “Just like that. This coming Breakdown could very well be the end of you and your legendary run.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Then again, Fate could show mercy. Fate could let you survive for a moment longer, just long enough to allow Strader to end you. That isn’t for me to decide, I merely execute the will of Fate. What I can tell you definitively, decisively, without the shadow of any doubt, is that you will not walk out unscathed and even if I do lose it won’t be a victory for you, it will be SURVIVAL. You will have SURVIVED, you will not have won a damn thing. I can also promise you that this will hurt. I promise to torture you, to break your body, to break your bones. I swear that I will do everything within my power to give what the fans and the locker room secretly desire and, most importantly, what Fate has dictate come to pass…I will do everything within my power to bring an end to you, Syren, once and for all, because your Fate is sealed.”

[Syren]

Second for the week, and #400.

Enjoy.



The Syren Song: Verse 400
"You… made me a shoe?"