10-30-2025, 03:47 PM
2 of 4
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October 25th, 2025
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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SCW Under Attack is almost a week away and Clyde Sutter, along with his lovely future bride Melinda Braddock, find themselves in the finals along with their tag partner Alex Belmont. Sutter and Braddock were not surprised in the slightest that they made it to the finals. After all, it was Fate that put them there. Sutter and Braddock have placed their trust in Fate’s grand plan. They trust that Fate knows what is best and that, through Fate, they will succeed. Sutter and Braddock are all but certain that those Trios Tournament contracts, and ultimate power within SCW, is all but theirs for the taking, and that the trio of James Evans, The Monster Machine, and Gina Glimmer, despite the impressiveness of their team, cannot stop them. Melinda is so certain of victory that she is already spending time with her sister, Fiona Logan, plotting ways to use these contracts.
The Assassin, however, has a different plan for this evening. He cannot focus on the Trios Tournament finals until he gets one particularly annoy problem off of his mind; namely the friend who recently betrayed him…Joey. Sutter learned that it was his childhood friend who likely was behind everything; the stalking, the ransacking of the Charlotte apartment, everything. What Clyde doesn’t understand is why? Tonight he intends to force a confession and then find out what Joey’s motivation was…by any means necessary. But first he has to get Joey lured into a false sense of security and what better place to do that than at a bar? Joey, after all, loves to drink.
The bar was the kind of place that didn’t advertise itself, it was a dim, narrow room tucked between a Cuban café and a pawn shop on a side street. The neon sign above the door flickered faintly. Inside, the air was heavy and slow, scented with lime, tobacco, and the lingering ghosts of cheap rum. Ceiling fans rotated lazily overhead, pushing warm air around rather than cooling it. A jukebox in the corner murmured an old blues song that had been playing so long it felt like part of the building. Clyde Sutter sat at the far end of the bar, elbows braced on the worn mahogany counter. His drink, a glass of dark rum with a single ice cube, caught the dim light and glowed like amber in front of him. The man himself was as composed as ever, though the Florida heat had left a sheen along his jaw and the back of his neck. His long black hair, loosely tied, brushed against the shoulders of his shirt. He looked out of place among the tired fishermen, night laborers, and drifting regulars who occupied the stools and tables, yet no one seemed inclined to stare. There was something about him, the way he sat too straight, too still, that discouraged attention. Beside him was his longtime friend and companion, Joey, who was hunched over his own drink, a sweating bottle of beer that he hadn’t touched in several minutes. He was smaller, wirier, his face more lined than his age should allow. His shirt clung to his back, the humidity unforgiving even in the shade. He watched the condensation roll down the glass, gathering into a small ring on the counter before wiping it away with his thumb. He looked like a man trying to scrub away a thought.
Outside, the late evening had deepened into the thick, humming darkness of a Miami night. The sound of the city bled faintly through the cracked windows: car horns in the distance, laughter echoing down alleys, the faint crash of waves a few blocks away. Inside, the lighting was a soft, uneven glow from hanging lamps that swung gently whenever the door opened. Sutter’s eyes traced the mirrors behind the bar. They were old, speckled with age, reflecting fragmented glimpses of the patrons; a shifting mosaic of faces and half-seen gestures. The muted TV above the counter showed highlights from a baseball game, the colors washed out in the low light. The bartender’s movements were rhythmic: pour, wipe, rinse, repeat. It was a place where time didn’t quite matter, where minutes slid past without notice. Joey finally took a slow sip of his beer, then set it down and stared across the room. In one of the booths near the entrance, a small group of men played cards. Their laughter came in low bursts, the kind that carried more edge than humor. Smoke from their cigars drifted upward in lazy spirals, caught briefly in the glow of the overhead light before dissolving into the gloom. The air tasted faintly of salt and old wood.
“Thanks for the night out, Clyde!” Joey exclaims. He is happy, happier than Sutter has ever seen him. That in and of itself is suspicious for someone who was once convinced Sutter’s sister was out to get him, a man who had begged The Assassin for protection. Joey now seems completely at ease. In fact, Joey is of the belief that tonight is all about a celebration of their friendship.
“Of course. You did help me with my sister and I appreciate that.” Clyde remarks. “You put yourself in considerable danger.”
“Eh, don’t mention it, mate.” Joey answers. “You’d do the same for me!”
“Indeed.” Clyde shifted slightly, the leather of his chair creaking beneath him. His gaze moved briefly toward the door, instinctive, calculating, then back to the bar. He reached for his drink again, the ice already melted, and took a measured sip.
“It’s what friends do, right? I did you a solid by helping you with that crazy sister of yours. When she came at me, you did me a solid by protecting me. I appreciate it, Clyde.”
“I’m sure you do, my friend.”
Sutter’s voice is deceptive. This isn’t a celebration of friendship as Joey seems to think. Sutter didn’t bring him here to thank him for helping him with his sister Lilith Sutter and the problems she has caused. The Assassin himself has been a target of a strange stalker and he suspects that Joey might be the mastermind behind it all. The question is why, and Clyde intends to get some answers tonight. Behind the bar, the bartender glanced their way, as if he could sense the gravity hanging around the two men. He poured another rum without being asked, slid it silently toward Clyde, then moved on to another customer.
“So, what are you thinking about?” Joey asks.
“Under Attack. The Trios Tournament. What else?”
“Ah yeah, the wrestling thing.” Joey smirks. “You and your girl will be fine as long as that other bloke holds up his end of the deal. Hell, even if he doesn’t I think you and Melinda could probably take it on your own.”
“Mr. Belmont will hold up his end of the bargain.” Sutter declares with confidence. He sips his rum again before setting it back on the bar. He motions to Joey. “Come.”
“What?” Joey seems confused. “I still got to finish my beer.”
“Then bring it with you.”
“I don’t want to go out there.” Joey insists. “I’d rather stay here.”
“Just come with me.” Sutter demands, the taller man growing more impatient.
“Why?”
“I have information about who might have ransacked my apartment.” Clyde says. “Who might be coming after you.”
“Oh, well why didn’t ya just lead with that, mate?” Joey takes one final swig of his beer. “Let’s go!”
The two men rose from their stools without ceremony, the legs of the bar chairs scraping softly against the worn wooden floor. Neither said a word as Clyde placed a few bills beside his glass, folded neatly, precise as everything he did. The bartender gave a curt nod, as if recognizing something unspoken in the gesture, and turned away to rinse another glass. The warm, heavy air hit them the instant they stepped outside. The door swung shut behind them, cutting off the low hum of jazz and conversation, leaving only the thick pulse of the Miami night. The street was quieter than it had been earlier, though the city never truly slept. Sodium lamps cast puddles of amber light along the cracked sidewalk, and the distant wail of a siren stretched thin through the humid darkness.
Clyde started walking, long strides deliberate and unhurried. Joey followed a step behind, shoulders hunched, glancing around as if expecting someone to call them back. The night pressed close around them. They turned a corner and left the main road behind, stepping into one of the narrow arteries that threaded between the city’s older buildings. The alley was a different world entirely, but not unfamiliar to men like Clyde and Joey; darker, quieter, and cloaked in the scent of damp concrete and old garbage. A flickering light above a rusted service door sputtered weakly, painting the brick walls in flashes of sickly yellow. Water dripped somewhere unseen, rhythmic and patient.
The deeper they went, the quieter it became. Clyde stopped at the mouth of a crossway, a narrow split between two aging warehouses, where the light failed completely beyond a few feet. He stood still, shoulders squared, head slightly tilted as if listening. His posture was calm, but there was something about it; something deliberate, coiled, ready. Joey hesitated a few steps behind, glancing back toward the faint glow of the main street, then forward again to the dark passage where Clyde waited. He could tell that something was off but he seems to know that it is too late to back out now.
“Hey, uh, Clyde, man, what are we doing out here?”
“I told you, I have information about who is stalking you.” A knowing grin forms on the face of The Assassin. “Or to be more precise, the person stalking me.”
“Huh?” Joey furrows his brow. “What do ya mean?”
“My beloved and her sister brought up a very valid point, one that I overlooked. Oftentimes the one responsible for the crimes against us are the people we least expect.”
“Still not following.” Joey shakes his head.
“Oh I think you are following along exceptionally well, my friend.” Clyde approaches Joey menacingly. Joey, feeling more and more nervous with each passing second, backs away until he can back no further, until he is against a wall. “I think you are behind everything.”
“What?!”
“You ransacked the apartment yourself just to send me off on a wild goose chase.”
“What?! Why would I do that?!” Joey shakes his head. “You’re talking crazy!”
Clyde Sutter does not appreciate being lied to and he also doesn’t appreciate being told he was crazy. The Assassin quickly knees him in the gut, doubling him over in pain. Clyde picks him back up and roughly throws him up against the wall, holding him there, his feet dangling in the air and Joey’s face one of sheer fear and terror. Despite Sutter’s physical violence, his voice and demeanor still are eerily calm.
“Make it easier on yourself and admit it.”
“I didn’t!” Joey shakes his head. “I swear!”
The Assassin throws Joey into the side of a green dumpster. Clyde waits patiently as Joey pushes himself up, first to his hands and knees and then back to his feet. Sutter punches him in the face, dropping Joey back to the ground. Joey is still conscious but Sutter could have knocked him cold if he had wanted to, but Clyde held back. He wants Joey awake so he can interrogate him some more. Sutter bends over, grabs Joey by his shirt and neck, and pulls him back up to his feet. He slams him up against another wall.
“This is your last chance, my friend.” Clyde’s voice remains eerily calm and soothing despite the violence and rage. “Tell the truth and make it easier on yourself.”
“F…f…fine!” Joey stammers. “Just put me down!”
The Assassin grins, a sense of victory forms across his face. He nods his head and gently puts Joey back down onto his feet. He gently dusts him off. Then he places a hand on Joey’s shoulder, as if to remind him not to attempt a hasty retreat.
“Now. The truth.”
“Ok, I admit, I ransacked the apartment. I faked it all. I lied to you about being stalked. You’re absolutely right, I just sent you running chasing after a non-existent stalker.”
“See? Was that hard?” Clyde asks with a smug look on his face. “Now tell me…why?”
“Look, your sister’s…people…they tracked me down. They found me…”
“Of course Lilith is behind this.” Clyde remarks, a look of frustration forming on his face.
“They needed my help and they were willing to pay me a ton of money to help.”
“So you took her blood money?”
“It was that or get killed right then and there!” Joey exclaims. “What was I supposed to do?!”
The Assassin is furious that his longtime friend helped this woman, this monster who claims to be his sister. Still, she is a criminal, and she would not hesitate to tell her men to kill Joey. He cannot actually blame him for giving in so easily. It isn’t as if Joey is a brave individual in the first place.
“What exactly did you help them do?”
“Well…” Joey sighs and braces himself for what he assumes will be another anger fueled reaction from The Assassin “...while you were off running around trying to find this non-existent stalker, I helped them manufacture evidence that cleared your sister of the murder charge of Archie Van Stanton.”
“What?!” Sutter’s calm demeanor has completely gone. He is furious. Joey backs away in fear.
“Yeah…she…she could leave Russia any time she wants…she could return anytime now…” before Joey can say another word, Sutter grabs him by his throat.
“Do you have any idea what you did?!”
“What’s the big deal?!” Joey exclaims. “Hell, she just wanted to work with you. That’s what she asked of you, right? Why didn’t you just agree to work with her? She is your sister. She’s family.”
“She’s a criminal!”
“So are we!” Joey insists. “We both lived that life!”
“I have changed.” Clyde releases Joey. “You clearly have not changed. And if you truly believe that I would consider working with the woman responsible for the death of Archie Van Stanton, my beloved’s first love, a man she once cared about deeply, then you are indeed stupid.”
“Clyde…”
“Go!” Sutter shouts angrily. “Go and return to England. You are not welcome here any longer.”
Clyde Sutter watches as Joey runs, or more accurately staggers, away, trying to put as much distance between him and The Assassin as possible. The fear in Joey’s eyes is clear; he knows he messed up by crossing Sutter. But what he doesn’t realize is the real mental and emotional hurt he put on Sutter.
The Harbinger of Fate places his trust in a very select few people. He wouldn’t even trust his own Trios Tournament tag partner Alex Belmont were it not for the fact that Sutter’s own girlfriend and fiance, Melinda Braddock, was also on the team and assured him that this would work out. Clyde’s strong and firm belief in Fate also helped him to trust the process, trust that Fate has big plans for this Trios team and, so far, those plans have come to fruition. It has led them to the finals. This trust has propelled them to where he now wants to be. Joey had once been among the select few to have Sutter’s trust. Now that trust is gone. The Assassin is now hurting but that hurt will soon turn to rage, a rage that he will channel and direct at his opponents and any who stand in his way.
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October 25th, 2025
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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SCW Under Attack is almost a week away and Clyde Sutter, along with his lovely future bride Melinda Braddock, find themselves in the finals along with their tag partner Alex Belmont. Sutter and Braddock were not surprised in the slightest that they made it to the finals. After all, it was Fate that put them there. Sutter and Braddock have placed their trust in Fate’s grand plan. They trust that Fate knows what is best and that, through Fate, they will succeed. Sutter and Braddock are all but certain that those Trios Tournament contracts, and ultimate power within SCW, is all but theirs for the taking, and that the trio of James Evans, The Monster Machine, and Gina Glimmer, despite the impressiveness of their team, cannot stop them. Melinda is so certain of victory that she is already spending time with her sister, Fiona Logan, plotting ways to use these contracts.
The Assassin, however, has a different plan for this evening. He cannot focus on the Trios Tournament finals until he gets one particularly annoy problem off of his mind; namely the friend who recently betrayed him…Joey. Sutter learned that it was his childhood friend who likely was behind everything; the stalking, the ransacking of the Charlotte apartment, everything. What Clyde doesn’t understand is why? Tonight he intends to force a confession and then find out what Joey’s motivation was…by any means necessary. But first he has to get Joey lured into a false sense of security and what better place to do that than at a bar? Joey, after all, loves to drink.
The bar was the kind of place that didn’t advertise itself, it was a dim, narrow room tucked between a Cuban café and a pawn shop on a side street. The neon sign above the door flickered faintly. Inside, the air was heavy and slow, scented with lime, tobacco, and the lingering ghosts of cheap rum. Ceiling fans rotated lazily overhead, pushing warm air around rather than cooling it. A jukebox in the corner murmured an old blues song that had been playing so long it felt like part of the building. Clyde Sutter sat at the far end of the bar, elbows braced on the worn mahogany counter. His drink, a glass of dark rum with a single ice cube, caught the dim light and glowed like amber in front of him. The man himself was as composed as ever, though the Florida heat had left a sheen along his jaw and the back of his neck. His long black hair, loosely tied, brushed against the shoulders of his shirt. He looked out of place among the tired fishermen, night laborers, and drifting regulars who occupied the stools and tables, yet no one seemed inclined to stare. There was something about him, the way he sat too straight, too still, that discouraged attention. Beside him was his longtime friend and companion, Joey, who was hunched over his own drink, a sweating bottle of beer that he hadn’t touched in several minutes. He was smaller, wirier, his face more lined than his age should allow. His shirt clung to his back, the humidity unforgiving even in the shade. He watched the condensation roll down the glass, gathering into a small ring on the counter before wiping it away with his thumb. He looked like a man trying to scrub away a thought.
Outside, the late evening had deepened into the thick, humming darkness of a Miami night. The sound of the city bled faintly through the cracked windows: car horns in the distance, laughter echoing down alleys, the faint crash of waves a few blocks away. Inside, the lighting was a soft, uneven glow from hanging lamps that swung gently whenever the door opened. Sutter’s eyes traced the mirrors behind the bar. They were old, speckled with age, reflecting fragmented glimpses of the patrons; a shifting mosaic of faces and half-seen gestures. The muted TV above the counter showed highlights from a baseball game, the colors washed out in the low light. The bartender’s movements were rhythmic: pour, wipe, rinse, repeat. It was a place where time didn’t quite matter, where minutes slid past without notice. Joey finally took a slow sip of his beer, then set it down and stared across the room. In one of the booths near the entrance, a small group of men played cards. Their laughter came in low bursts, the kind that carried more edge than humor. Smoke from their cigars drifted upward in lazy spirals, caught briefly in the glow of the overhead light before dissolving into the gloom. The air tasted faintly of salt and old wood.
“Thanks for the night out, Clyde!” Joey exclaims. He is happy, happier than Sutter has ever seen him. That in and of itself is suspicious for someone who was once convinced Sutter’s sister was out to get him, a man who had begged The Assassin for protection. Joey now seems completely at ease. In fact, Joey is of the belief that tonight is all about a celebration of their friendship.
“Of course. You did help me with my sister and I appreciate that.” Clyde remarks. “You put yourself in considerable danger.”
“Eh, don’t mention it, mate.” Joey answers. “You’d do the same for me!”
“Indeed.” Clyde shifted slightly, the leather of his chair creaking beneath him. His gaze moved briefly toward the door, instinctive, calculating, then back to the bar. He reached for his drink again, the ice already melted, and took a measured sip.
“It’s what friends do, right? I did you a solid by helping you with that crazy sister of yours. When she came at me, you did me a solid by protecting me. I appreciate it, Clyde.”
“I’m sure you do, my friend.”
Sutter’s voice is deceptive. This isn’t a celebration of friendship as Joey seems to think. Sutter didn’t bring him here to thank him for helping him with his sister Lilith Sutter and the problems she has caused. The Assassin himself has been a target of a strange stalker and he suspects that Joey might be the mastermind behind it all. The question is why, and Clyde intends to get some answers tonight. Behind the bar, the bartender glanced their way, as if he could sense the gravity hanging around the two men. He poured another rum without being asked, slid it silently toward Clyde, then moved on to another customer.
“So, what are you thinking about?” Joey asks.
“Under Attack. The Trios Tournament. What else?”
“Ah yeah, the wrestling thing.” Joey smirks. “You and your girl will be fine as long as that other bloke holds up his end of the deal. Hell, even if he doesn’t I think you and Melinda could probably take it on your own.”
“Mr. Belmont will hold up his end of the bargain.” Sutter declares with confidence. He sips his rum again before setting it back on the bar. He motions to Joey. “Come.”
“What?” Joey seems confused. “I still got to finish my beer.”
“Then bring it with you.”
“I don’t want to go out there.” Joey insists. “I’d rather stay here.”
“Just come with me.” Sutter demands, the taller man growing more impatient.
“Why?”
“I have information about who might have ransacked my apartment.” Clyde says. “Who might be coming after you.”
“Oh, well why didn’t ya just lead with that, mate?” Joey takes one final swig of his beer. “Let’s go!”
The two men rose from their stools without ceremony, the legs of the bar chairs scraping softly against the worn wooden floor. Neither said a word as Clyde placed a few bills beside his glass, folded neatly, precise as everything he did. The bartender gave a curt nod, as if recognizing something unspoken in the gesture, and turned away to rinse another glass. The warm, heavy air hit them the instant they stepped outside. The door swung shut behind them, cutting off the low hum of jazz and conversation, leaving only the thick pulse of the Miami night. The street was quieter than it had been earlier, though the city never truly slept. Sodium lamps cast puddles of amber light along the cracked sidewalk, and the distant wail of a siren stretched thin through the humid darkness.
Clyde started walking, long strides deliberate and unhurried. Joey followed a step behind, shoulders hunched, glancing around as if expecting someone to call them back. The night pressed close around them. They turned a corner and left the main road behind, stepping into one of the narrow arteries that threaded between the city’s older buildings. The alley was a different world entirely, but not unfamiliar to men like Clyde and Joey; darker, quieter, and cloaked in the scent of damp concrete and old garbage. A flickering light above a rusted service door sputtered weakly, painting the brick walls in flashes of sickly yellow. Water dripped somewhere unseen, rhythmic and patient.
The deeper they went, the quieter it became. Clyde stopped at the mouth of a crossway, a narrow split between two aging warehouses, where the light failed completely beyond a few feet. He stood still, shoulders squared, head slightly tilted as if listening. His posture was calm, but there was something about it; something deliberate, coiled, ready. Joey hesitated a few steps behind, glancing back toward the faint glow of the main street, then forward again to the dark passage where Clyde waited. He could tell that something was off but he seems to know that it is too late to back out now.
“Hey, uh, Clyde, man, what are we doing out here?”
“I told you, I have information about who is stalking you.” A knowing grin forms on the face of The Assassin. “Or to be more precise, the person stalking me.”
“Huh?” Joey furrows his brow. “What do ya mean?”
“My beloved and her sister brought up a very valid point, one that I overlooked. Oftentimes the one responsible for the crimes against us are the people we least expect.”
“Still not following.” Joey shakes his head.
“Oh I think you are following along exceptionally well, my friend.” Clyde approaches Joey menacingly. Joey, feeling more and more nervous with each passing second, backs away until he can back no further, until he is against a wall. “I think you are behind everything.”
“What?!”
“You ransacked the apartment yourself just to send me off on a wild goose chase.”
“What?! Why would I do that?!” Joey shakes his head. “You’re talking crazy!”
Clyde Sutter does not appreciate being lied to and he also doesn’t appreciate being told he was crazy. The Assassin quickly knees him in the gut, doubling him over in pain. Clyde picks him back up and roughly throws him up against the wall, holding him there, his feet dangling in the air and Joey’s face one of sheer fear and terror. Despite Sutter’s physical violence, his voice and demeanor still are eerily calm.
“Make it easier on yourself and admit it.”
“I didn’t!” Joey shakes his head. “I swear!”
The Assassin throws Joey into the side of a green dumpster. Clyde waits patiently as Joey pushes himself up, first to his hands and knees and then back to his feet. Sutter punches him in the face, dropping Joey back to the ground. Joey is still conscious but Sutter could have knocked him cold if he had wanted to, but Clyde held back. He wants Joey awake so he can interrogate him some more. Sutter bends over, grabs Joey by his shirt and neck, and pulls him back up to his feet. He slams him up against another wall.
“This is your last chance, my friend.” Clyde’s voice remains eerily calm and soothing despite the violence and rage. “Tell the truth and make it easier on yourself.”
“F…f…fine!” Joey stammers. “Just put me down!”
The Assassin grins, a sense of victory forms across his face. He nods his head and gently puts Joey back down onto his feet. He gently dusts him off. Then he places a hand on Joey’s shoulder, as if to remind him not to attempt a hasty retreat.
“Now. The truth.”
“Ok, I admit, I ransacked the apartment. I faked it all. I lied to you about being stalked. You’re absolutely right, I just sent you running chasing after a non-existent stalker.”
“See? Was that hard?” Clyde asks with a smug look on his face. “Now tell me…why?”
“Look, your sister’s…people…they tracked me down. They found me…”
“Of course Lilith is behind this.” Clyde remarks, a look of frustration forming on his face.
“They needed my help and they were willing to pay me a ton of money to help.”
“So you took her blood money?”
“It was that or get killed right then and there!” Joey exclaims. “What was I supposed to do?!”
The Assassin is furious that his longtime friend helped this woman, this monster who claims to be his sister. Still, she is a criminal, and she would not hesitate to tell her men to kill Joey. He cannot actually blame him for giving in so easily. It isn’t as if Joey is a brave individual in the first place.
“What exactly did you help them do?”
“Well…” Joey sighs and braces himself for what he assumes will be another anger fueled reaction from The Assassin “...while you were off running around trying to find this non-existent stalker, I helped them manufacture evidence that cleared your sister of the murder charge of Archie Van Stanton.”
“What?!” Sutter’s calm demeanor has completely gone. He is furious. Joey backs away in fear.
“Yeah…she…she could leave Russia any time she wants…she could return anytime now…” before Joey can say another word, Sutter grabs him by his throat.
“Do you have any idea what you did?!”
“What’s the big deal?!” Joey exclaims. “Hell, she just wanted to work with you. That’s what she asked of you, right? Why didn’t you just agree to work with her? She is your sister. She’s family.”
“She’s a criminal!”
“So are we!” Joey insists. “We both lived that life!”
“I have changed.” Clyde releases Joey. “You clearly have not changed. And if you truly believe that I would consider working with the woman responsible for the death of Archie Van Stanton, my beloved’s first love, a man she once cared about deeply, then you are indeed stupid.”
“Clyde…”
“Go!” Sutter shouts angrily. “Go and return to England. You are not welcome here any longer.”
Clyde Sutter watches as Joey runs, or more accurately staggers, away, trying to put as much distance between him and The Assassin as possible. The fear in Joey’s eyes is clear; he knows he messed up by crossing Sutter. But what he doesn’t realize is the real mental and emotional hurt he put on Sutter.
The Harbinger of Fate places his trust in a very select few people. He wouldn’t even trust his own Trios Tournament tag partner Alex Belmont were it not for the fact that Sutter’s own girlfriend and fiance, Melinda Braddock, was also on the team and assured him that this would work out. Clyde’s strong and firm belief in Fate also helped him to trust the process, trust that Fate has big plans for this Trios team and, so far, those plans have come to fruition. It has led them to the finals. This trust has propelled them to where he now wants to be. Joey had once been among the select few to have Sutter’s trust. Now that trust is gone. The Assassin is now hurting but that hurt will soon turn to rage, a rage that he will channel and direct at his opponents and any who stand in his way.
![[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
MWA World Tag Team Champion 2x