01-29-2026, 11:03 AM
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January 24th, 2026
Birmingham, England
Off Camera
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The orphanage sat at the edge of a forgotten stretch of Birmingham, tucked away from the newer developments and polished streets as though the city itself had chosen to look past it. Time had not been kind to the building. Its brick exterior was darkened and uneven, stained by decades of soot, rain, and neglect. Ivy crept along the lower walls and climbed toward the windows, some of which were boarded over, others left exposed with cracked glass that caught the light at odd angles. The structure loomed quietly, not collapsing, not alive, simply enduring, stubborn in its refusal to disappear. The grounds around it were enclosed by a rusted iron fence that leaned in places, sections bent outward as if someone had once tried to escape rather than enter. The gate hung open, its hinges frozen mid complaint, leaving the path to the front door unobstructed. Weeds pushed through broken pavement, reclaiming the walkway in uneven patches. The air carried the faint scent of damp earth and old stone, layered with something harder to define, the lingering suggestion of abandonment that seemed to cling to the place no matter how long it stood empty.
Clyde Sutter stood near the front of the building, his presence calm and grounded against the decaying backdrop. He was dressed in dark, understated clothing, practical and restrained, as though anything too polished would feel out of place here. A fitted coat hung open over a simple shirt, the fabric heavy enough to offer warmth against the cool air but worn without ceremony. His trousers were dark and clean, sturdy rather than fashionable, and his boots were scuffed just enough to suggest use rather than neglect. There was no effort to impress in his appearance, only function and intent. His long black hair was pulled back loosely, strands catching the breeze and brushing against his neck. His expression was unreadable, composed to the point of stillness, but there was weight behind his eyes that did not come from the present moment alone. This was not just a building to him. It was history made physical. Every cracked brick and broken window carried memories that did not need to be named to be felt. He stood straight, shoulders squared, not in defiance of the place, but in acknowledgment of it.
Lilith Sutter stood beside him, slightly removed but unmistakably connected. She wore a long dark coat tailored sharply to her frame, its clean lines cutting against the disorder of the environment. Beneath it, her clothing was equally refined, dark fabrics layered with intention, each piece fitted and deliberate. Her boots were sleek and well kept, heels clicking softly against the uneven ground when she shifted her weight. She looked composed, powerful, and entirely out of place in the way only someone utterly self possessed could be. Her black hair fell smoothly around her shoulders, untouched by the wind that tugged at the ivy and scattered leaves across the yard. Her posture was confident, chin lifted slightly, eyes scanning the building with a mixture of curiosity and calculation. This was not her home, not in the way it was Clyde’s, but she carried herself as though she belonged wherever she chose to stand. The contrast between her polished appearance and the decaying surroundings only sharpened her presence.
Behind them, the orphanage rose in silent observation. The front door hung crooked on its frame, wood swollen and cracked, paint peeling away in long strips. Inside, darkness waited, broken only by thin slivers of daylight slipping through damaged windows. The faint sound of something shifting inside drifted out, possibly the wind, possibly something else, impossible to tell. The building felt hollow, emptied of voices yet still heavy with the impression that it had once been full. Around them, the neighborhood was quiet. Distant traffic hummed somewhere beyond the abandoned streets, a reminder that life continued elsewhere, indifferent to this forgotten corner. A crow perched on the fence nearby, watching without fear, then took flight with a sharp beat of wings that echoed briefly against the brick walls. Clyde did not move toward the door. He simply stood, rooted in place, as though stepping inside required more than physical readiness. The orphanage had shaped him in ways no one could see, carving lessons into silence and survival. Lilith remained close, her presence steady and deliberate, not offering comfort but offering solidity.
“What are we doing here?” Clyde asks in a cool, demanding tone. Lilith shrugs his tone off with a light chuckle.
“Right to the point, eh dear brother?”
“I do not like having my time wasted.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then we are in agreement.” He answers back sharply. “Now tell me, why are we here of all places? This place, a now abandoned institution, where I grew up? Where I spent my formative years?”
“I would argue that you spent your formative years on the streets as a drug enforcer but that’s beside the point, dear brother.” Lilith states. “Nevertheless, this is the place you were dropped off at as an infant. You never knew our father, you never knew Ethan Sutter. You spent your time here at this place.”
“And?”
“And I want you to tell me everything you remember about your time here.”
The Assassin directs his attention away from his sister and up towards the massive building, the now abandoned orphanage that he once called home. All of the once forgotten memories quickly return like a tidal wave.
“My time here was not a pleasant experience.” He says solemnly. “How do you think a child feels? Being here means you have been abandoned. It means no one wants you. Truthfully, the very people who worked here, who were paid to take care of us, they did not truly want us there, either. We were but a burdon on them. We were trouble. It was here that I learned that society does not care, that your fellow man and woman does not care.” The Assassin chuckles softly. “It was also my first introduction to the harsh realities of Fate. Fate is no respecter of persons…not even of little children. All are at the mercy of Fate, including orphans.”
“Always the dramatic one, aren’t you brother?” Lilith smirks. Clyde shoots her an angry, nasty glare.
“You asked the question. I answered. What more do you want?”
“I do not want your usual philosophical ramblings.” She snaps back. “I want straight answers. I want you to tell me specifics.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for instance, were you treated any differently than the rest of the children at this place?”
He pauses again to consider her words. He looks back up at the massive, abandoned institution and lets out a sigh.
“I was given psychiatric treatment. Few other children ever had as much attention from the psychiatrist as I received and, to be completely transparent, I had no idea what was wrong with me…at the time…”
“WAS anything wrong with you?” She asks.
“Of course there was.” Clyde answers. “To this day I see a therapist for my anger and rage issues.”
“True but at the time, when you were still a little child, did you have problems that required anger management? Did you truly have a problem serious enough that required a psychiatrist? Dear brother, did you not find it the least bit strange that you received this special treatment while others did not?”
“What are you implying, sister?”
“Do the math.” She says flatly. “There was nothing wrong with you. You always were a normal child.” She motions to the building before them. “The psychiatrist and the other staff working at this place, all of them along with the orphanage itself changed you.”
“You are speaking like a delusional fool. You speak of conspiracy theories.” He scoffs. “You mock my philosophy of Fate but even I do not buy into your implications and suggestions of some conspiracy involving this orphanage. This was not my most pleasant of periods but these people were merely guilty of being neglectful and uncaring. Nothing more.”
“You sound confident.” She reaches into her coat and produces a large envelope. She passes it to Clyde. “Perhaps you might change your tune after seeing this.”
“What is this?”
“Documentation, donor lists; proof that this orphanage was funded by wealthy private donors. Also included in these documents are medical records proving that Clyde, along with other children, were being closely observed at the behest of these wealthy donors.”
“This means nothing!” Clyde exclaims. “Just more conspiratorial nonsense! Is this all you have to show me?!”
“Oh no, dear brother.” She shakes her head. “I still have much more to show you.”
==========
January 24th, 2026
Birmingham, England
Off Camera
==========
Later that same day, the city shifted around them as they moved away from the abandoned orphanage and into a different pocket of Birmingham, one that wore its age and neglect openly. The streets here were narrower, the buildings pressed closer together, brick darkened by years of exhaust and weather. Streetlights flickered rather than glowed, casting uneven pools of yellow light that left long stretches of pavement in shadow. The air felt heavier, tinged with stale smoke, spilled alcohol, and damp stone. The pub came into view at the end of the block, squat and worn, its sign hanging slightly crooked above the door. Whatever name it once proudly displayed had faded, the lettering chipped and dulled until it blended into the wood behind it. The windows were clouded with grime, light bleeding through them in a muted haze that hinted at noise and movement inside without revealing any detail. The door bore scratches and dents from years of careless use, opening and closing for people who passed through without ever truly staying. Clyde Sutter slowed as they approached, his presence steady and deliberate. In this environment, his calm felt almost severe, a quiet contrast to the disorder around him. Lilith Sutter walked beside him, her appearance as polished and precise as before.
Just outside the pub, curled against the wall near the doorway, lay an elderly homeless man. He was wrapped in layers of mismatched clothing, coats and blankets piled over one another in an attempt to hold warmth. His shoes were worn thin, soles separating at the edges, laces tied in uneven knots. A grey beard covered most of his face, his features slack in sleep, mouth slightly open as he breathed shallowly. His possessions were gathered close to him in a small cluster, a battered bag, a rolled blanket, a plastic bottle resting near his hand. He lay directly beneath the pub’s window, where the muffled sounds of laughter and raised voices drifted out through the glass. The contrast was stark. Inside, life carried on in familiar rhythms of drink and conversation. Outside, the man slept undisturbed, pressed against cold brick, his presence seemingly unnoticed by those passing through the doorway above him. The street accepted him as part of its landscape, just another fixture beneath peeling paint and flickering light. The pavement around him was cracked and uneven, darkened by old spills and rain that never quite washed away the stains. Cigarette butts clustered near the door, ground into the concrete by countless feet. Somewhere down the street, a bottle shattered, the sharp sound echoing briefly before being swallowed by distance. The pub’s light spilled outward just enough to illuminate the man’s still form, casting shadows that made him appear smaller, more fragile against the wall.
Clyde and Lilith stood framed by the scene, their silhouettes cutting clean lines against the disorder of the street. The neighborhood felt rough and unpolished, a place shaped by survival rather than comfort. The pub loomed behind the sleeping man like a silent witness, offering warmth and shelter to some while ignoring others entirely.
“This isn’t exactly your kind of neighborhood, nor is it the type of establishment someone of your stature would frequent.” Clyde states pointedly, glaring at his sister. Lilith nods her head in agreement.
“Quite an astute observation and yet here we are.”
“So what are we doing here?” He asks cooly. “More riddles from you, I assume?”
“Perhaps.” She smirks knowingly. “Just have faith, brother, we are here for a good reason, and yes, it does have to do with our father, with Ethan Sutter.”
“I am growing impatient with your cryptic talk.” Clyde states bluntly with a note of frustration in his voice. “Why can you not just tell me outright what you know about our father? Why must we bounce around the truth?”
“Because this truth is a difficult one to fathom, a challenging truth to come to grips with.” She points a finger at Clyde. “You must learn this truth the hard way, the same way I learned it, otherwise you will not understand. Worse yet, it might destroy you.”
“You think I am weak?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “But I AM trying to protect you.”
“I do not need protection.”
“We shall see.” She states cooly.” Now then, I must introduce you to someone.”
The Assassin nods his head and makes his way over towards the entrance to the pub. Lilith reaches out with her arm to stop him dead in his tracks. He turns and looks at her quizzically.
“Are we not going inside?”
“No, we are not.” She shakes her head. “The man you need to meet is right here.”
She motions to the homeless man, the man whom Clyde had barely taken any notice of until just now. Lilith approaches first, followed by Clyde. He watches as his sister roughly kicks him to wake him up from what was a sound sleep.
“Get up.” She says sharply. The homeless man is startled awake and sits up quickly.
“Huh, wha…?” The homeless man looks at Lilith and then at the imposing, intimidating figure of Clyde Sutter “...do I know you?”
“No, you do not.” She shakes her head. “But perhaps you have heard of our name…Sutter.”
The Assassin watches as the homeless man thinks long and hard about what he just heard. Sutter notices a look of recognition wash over his face, as if the name does seem to ring a bell. The homeless man nods his head slowly.
“Yes…I…I think I remember someone like that…but this bloke was, well…” he shakes his head “...he was something very different.”
“What was his name?” Lilith asks.
“Ethan. Ethan Sutter.”
There it is. The name that Clyde knows all too well. Ethan Sutter was his and Lilith’s father. Apparently this homeless man, this man completely forgotten by society, knew him. This man knew their father. Before Clyde can chime in, Lilith speaks up and provides a piece of information that sparks fear into the man.
“That’s interesting because we are his children.”
“You are?!”
He is suddenly very frightened. The homeless man tries to get back to his feet but he cannot scrambles as quickly as he once could in his younger years. Clyde can see that he is panicking and obviously wants to flee. The Assassin does not understand why. Why does this connection to Ethan Sutter cause such fear? It just creates more questions than answers. Still, The Assassin must get him to calm down. He places a firm hand on his shoulder, not just to calm him but to keep him from running.
“Silence yourself.” Clyde says strongly. “Calm down!”
It does no good. The homeless man still struggles. Lilith chuckles softly.
“You are too intimidating, brother. Let me try.”
“By all means.” Clyde states. “You did create this mess.”
Lilith steps in and gently rubs his cheeks.
“There, there, calm down, my dear.” She says soothingly. “We are not here to hurt you. We want to talk, that is all, and perhaps we can help you in the process.” She produces some cash. The homeless man looks at the money, then back up at her. Despite still being a little anxious, he accepts the cash. Lilith steps away, satisfied that he is calm enough not to run off. She looks over at Clyde. “He’s all yours.”
The Assassin rolls his eyes. He cautiously steps to the homeless man.
“Tell me what you know about my father.”
“Ethan?” The homeless man sighs. “Well he was violent…quite often, in fact. Yet he was still charismatic and extremely persuasive. That bloke could get you to buy into anything. He could convince you to believe anything he said was gospel.”
“And what did he speak to YOU about?” Lilith asks.
“Uh, well, he spoke in riddles a lot.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Spoke about destiny and inevitability.”
Lilith nods her head. She turns to Clyde and winks. “Sound familiar?”
“Indeed it does.” Clyde then turns to face the homeless. “We are done here.”
And with that, Clyde Sutter turns and walks off, intending to leave the homeless man alone. He and his sister Lilith already caused the man enough emotional distress by merely mentioning the fact that they were Ethan Sutter’s children. The fear that this stranger had by hearing Ethan’s name was enough to stir up confusion within Clyde himself. What is it about Ethan that sparked so much fear in this individual? There is also the other disturbing reality; the fact that the way this homeless man described Ethan, being violent and spoke of destiny and inevitability, so much comparisons that match up Clyde to a T.
“Clyde, wait…” Clyde can hear his sister calling out to him but he keeps walking. Eventually she does manage to catch up to him “...I apologize if that was distressing for you but believe me, it was necessary that you hear it from him and not me.”
“You knew.” Clyde states coldly. “You knew he would likely say this and you did not tell me.”
“I did warn you it would be difficult.” She says. “But it would be far more difficult if I just told you everything I knew outright. Trust me, this is for the best.”
“So how much longer, sister?” He asks. “How much longer until I get the full truth?”
“There are a few more things I must show you.” Lilith says. “Just have some patience. The truth is coming.”
“Lilith, I already told you that my patience is wearing thin. I am especially angered that we are playing games with my past.”
“OUR past.”
“Fair enough.” Clyde states. “Fine, I will give you a little more time. But something like this, a day like this,” he shakes his head “it will NOT happen again. Are we clear?”
“Yes, crystal clear.”
======
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January 24th, 2026
Birmingham, England
Off Camera
==========
The orphanage sat at the edge of a forgotten stretch of Birmingham, tucked away from the newer developments and polished streets as though the city itself had chosen to look past it. Time had not been kind to the building. Its brick exterior was darkened and uneven, stained by decades of soot, rain, and neglect. Ivy crept along the lower walls and climbed toward the windows, some of which were boarded over, others left exposed with cracked glass that caught the light at odd angles. The structure loomed quietly, not collapsing, not alive, simply enduring, stubborn in its refusal to disappear. The grounds around it were enclosed by a rusted iron fence that leaned in places, sections bent outward as if someone had once tried to escape rather than enter. The gate hung open, its hinges frozen mid complaint, leaving the path to the front door unobstructed. Weeds pushed through broken pavement, reclaiming the walkway in uneven patches. The air carried the faint scent of damp earth and old stone, layered with something harder to define, the lingering suggestion of abandonment that seemed to cling to the place no matter how long it stood empty.
Clyde Sutter stood near the front of the building, his presence calm and grounded against the decaying backdrop. He was dressed in dark, understated clothing, practical and restrained, as though anything too polished would feel out of place here. A fitted coat hung open over a simple shirt, the fabric heavy enough to offer warmth against the cool air but worn without ceremony. His trousers were dark and clean, sturdy rather than fashionable, and his boots were scuffed just enough to suggest use rather than neglect. There was no effort to impress in his appearance, only function and intent. His long black hair was pulled back loosely, strands catching the breeze and brushing against his neck. His expression was unreadable, composed to the point of stillness, but there was weight behind his eyes that did not come from the present moment alone. This was not just a building to him. It was history made physical. Every cracked brick and broken window carried memories that did not need to be named to be felt. He stood straight, shoulders squared, not in defiance of the place, but in acknowledgment of it.
Lilith Sutter stood beside him, slightly removed but unmistakably connected. She wore a long dark coat tailored sharply to her frame, its clean lines cutting against the disorder of the environment. Beneath it, her clothing was equally refined, dark fabrics layered with intention, each piece fitted and deliberate. Her boots were sleek and well kept, heels clicking softly against the uneven ground when she shifted her weight. She looked composed, powerful, and entirely out of place in the way only someone utterly self possessed could be. Her black hair fell smoothly around her shoulders, untouched by the wind that tugged at the ivy and scattered leaves across the yard. Her posture was confident, chin lifted slightly, eyes scanning the building with a mixture of curiosity and calculation. This was not her home, not in the way it was Clyde’s, but she carried herself as though she belonged wherever she chose to stand. The contrast between her polished appearance and the decaying surroundings only sharpened her presence.
Behind them, the orphanage rose in silent observation. The front door hung crooked on its frame, wood swollen and cracked, paint peeling away in long strips. Inside, darkness waited, broken only by thin slivers of daylight slipping through damaged windows. The faint sound of something shifting inside drifted out, possibly the wind, possibly something else, impossible to tell. The building felt hollow, emptied of voices yet still heavy with the impression that it had once been full. Around them, the neighborhood was quiet. Distant traffic hummed somewhere beyond the abandoned streets, a reminder that life continued elsewhere, indifferent to this forgotten corner. A crow perched on the fence nearby, watching without fear, then took flight with a sharp beat of wings that echoed briefly against the brick walls. Clyde did not move toward the door. He simply stood, rooted in place, as though stepping inside required more than physical readiness. The orphanage had shaped him in ways no one could see, carving lessons into silence and survival. Lilith remained close, her presence steady and deliberate, not offering comfort but offering solidity.
“What are we doing here?” Clyde asks in a cool, demanding tone. Lilith shrugs his tone off with a light chuckle.
“Right to the point, eh dear brother?”
“I do not like having my time wasted.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then we are in agreement.” He answers back sharply. “Now tell me, why are we here of all places? This place, a now abandoned institution, where I grew up? Where I spent my formative years?”
“I would argue that you spent your formative years on the streets as a drug enforcer but that’s beside the point, dear brother.” Lilith states. “Nevertheless, this is the place you were dropped off at as an infant. You never knew our father, you never knew Ethan Sutter. You spent your time here at this place.”
“And?”
“And I want you to tell me everything you remember about your time here.”
The Assassin directs his attention away from his sister and up towards the massive building, the now abandoned orphanage that he once called home. All of the once forgotten memories quickly return like a tidal wave.
“My time here was not a pleasant experience.” He says solemnly. “How do you think a child feels? Being here means you have been abandoned. It means no one wants you. Truthfully, the very people who worked here, who were paid to take care of us, they did not truly want us there, either. We were but a burdon on them. We were trouble. It was here that I learned that society does not care, that your fellow man and woman does not care.” The Assassin chuckles softly. “It was also my first introduction to the harsh realities of Fate. Fate is no respecter of persons…not even of little children. All are at the mercy of Fate, including orphans.”
“Always the dramatic one, aren’t you brother?” Lilith smirks. Clyde shoots her an angry, nasty glare.
“You asked the question. I answered. What more do you want?”
“I do not want your usual philosophical ramblings.” She snaps back. “I want straight answers. I want you to tell me specifics.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for instance, were you treated any differently than the rest of the children at this place?”
He pauses again to consider her words. He looks back up at the massive, abandoned institution and lets out a sigh.
“I was given psychiatric treatment. Few other children ever had as much attention from the psychiatrist as I received and, to be completely transparent, I had no idea what was wrong with me…at the time…”
“WAS anything wrong with you?” She asks.
“Of course there was.” Clyde answers. “To this day I see a therapist for my anger and rage issues.”
“True but at the time, when you were still a little child, did you have problems that required anger management? Did you truly have a problem serious enough that required a psychiatrist? Dear brother, did you not find it the least bit strange that you received this special treatment while others did not?”
“What are you implying, sister?”
“Do the math.” She says flatly. “There was nothing wrong with you. You always were a normal child.” She motions to the building before them. “The psychiatrist and the other staff working at this place, all of them along with the orphanage itself changed you.”
“You are speaking like a delusional fool. You speak of conspiracy theories.” He scoffs. “You mock my philosophy of Fate but even I do not buy into your implications and suggestions of some conspiracy involving this orphanage. This was not my most pleasant of periods but these people were merely guilty of being neglectful and uncaring. Nothing more.”
“You sound confident.” She reaches into her coat and produces a large envelope. She passes it to Clyde. “Perhaps you might change your tune after seeing this.”
“What is this?”
“Documentation, donor lists; proof that this orphanage was funded by wealthy private donors. Also included in these documents are medical records proving that Clyde, along with other children, were being closely observed at the behest of these wealthy donors.”
“This means nothing!” Clyde exclaims. “Just more conspiratorial nonsense! Is this all you have to show me?!”
“Oh no, dear brother.” She shakes her head. “I still have much more to show you.”
==========
January 24th, 2026
Birmingham, England
Off Camera
==========
Later that same day, the city shifted around them as they moved away from the abandoned orphanage and into a different pocket of Birmingham, one that wore its age and neglect openly. The streets here were narrower, the buildings pressed closer together, brick darkened by years of exhaust and weather. Streetlights flickered rather than glowed, casting uneven pools of yellow light that left long stretches of pavement in shadow. The air felt heavier, tinged with stale smoke, spilled alcohol, and damp stone. The pub came into view at the end of the block, squat and worn, its sign hanging slightly crooked above the door. Whatever name it once proudly displayed had faded, the lettering chipped and dulled until it blended into the wood behind it. The windows were clouded with grime, light bleeding through them in a muted haze that hinted at noise and movement inside without revealing any detail. The door bore scratches and dents from years of careless use, opening and closing for people who passed through without ever truly staying. Clyde Sutter slowed as they approached, his presence steady and deliberate. In this environment, his calm felt almost severe, a quiet contrast to the disorder around him. Lilith Sutter walked beside him, her appearance as polished and precise as before.
Just outside the pub, curled against the wall near the doorway, lay an elderly homeless man. He was wrapped in layers of mismatched clothing, coats and blankets piled over one another in an attempt to hold warmth. His shoes were worn thin, soles separating at the edges, laces tied in uneven knots. A grey beard covered most of his face, his features slack in sleep, mouth slightly open as he breathed shallowly. His possessions were gathered close to him in a small cluster, a battered bag, a rolled blanket, a plastic bottle resting near his hand. He lay directly beneath the pub’s window, where the muffled sounds of laughter and raised voices drifted out through the glass. The contrast was stark. Inside, life carried on in familiar rhythms of drink and conversation. Outside, the man slept undisturbed, pressed against cold brick, his presence seemingly unnoticed by those passing through the doorway above him. The street accepted him as part of its landscape, just another fixture beneath peeling paint and flickering light. The pavement around him was cracked and uneven, darkened by old spills and rain that never quite washed away the stains. Cigarette butts clustered near the door, ground into the concrete by countless feet. Somewhere down the street, a bottle shattered, the sharp sound echoing briefly before being swallowed by distance. The pub’s light spilled outward just enough to illuminate the man’s still form, casting shadows that made him appear smaller, more fragile against the wall.
Clyde and Lilith stood framed by the scene, their silhouettes cutting clean lines against the disorder of the street. The neighborhood felt rough and unpolished, a place shaped by survival rather than comfort. The pub loomed behind the sleeping man like a silent witness, offering warmth and shelter to some while ignoring others entirely.
“This isn’t exactly your kind of neighborhood, nor is it the type of establishment someone of your stature would frequent.” Clyde states pointedly, glaring at his sister. Lilith nods her head in agreement.
“Quite an astute observation and yet here we are.”
“So what are we doing here?” He asks cooly. “More riddles from you, I assume?”
“Perhaps.” She smirks knowingly. “Just have faith, brother, we are here for a good reason, and yes, it does have to do with our father, with Ethan Sutter.”
“I am growing impatient with your cryptic talk.” Clyde states bluntly with a note of frustration in his voice. “Why can you not just tell me outright what you know about our father? Why must we bounce around the truth?”
“Because this truth is a difficult one to fathom, a challenging truth to come to grips with.” She points a finger at Clyde. “You must learn this truth the hard way, the same way I learned it, otherwise you will not understand. Worse yet, it might destroy you.”
“You think I am weak?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “But I AM trying to protect you.”
“I do not need protection.”
“We shall see.” She states cooly.” Now then, I must introduce you to someone.”
The Assassin nods his head and makes his way over towards the entrance to the pub. Lilith reaches out with her arm to stop him dead in his tracks. He turns and looks at her quizzically.
“Are we not going inside?”
“No, we are not.” She shakes her head. “The man you need to meet is right here.”
She motions to the homeless man, the man whom Clyde had barely taken any notice of until just now. Lilith approaches first, followed by Clyde. He watches as his sister roughly kicks him to wake him up from what was a sound sleep.
“Get up.” She says sharply. The homeless man is startled awake and sits up quickly.
“Huh, wha…?” The homeless man looks at Lilith and then at the imposing, intimidating figure of Clyde Sutter “...do I know you?”
“No, you do not.” She shakes her head. “But perhaps you have heard of our name…Sutter.”
The Assassin watches as the homeless man thinks long and hard about what he just heard. Sutter notices a look of recognition wash over his face, as if the name does seem to ring a bell. The homeless man nods his head slowly.
“Yes…I…I think I remember someone like that…but this bloke was, well…” he shakes his head “...he was something very different.”
“What was his name?” Lilith asks.
“Ethan. Ethan Sutter.”
There it is. The name that Clyde knows all too well. Ethan Sutter was his and Lilith’s father. Apparently this homeless man, this man completely forgotten by society, knew him. This man knew their father. Before Clyde can chime in, Lilith speaks up and provides a piece of information that sparks fear into the man.
“That’s interesting because we are his children.”
“You are?!”
He is suddenly very frightened. The homeless man tries to get back to his feet but he cannot scrambles as quickly as he once could in his younger years. Clyde can see that he is panicking and obviously wants to flee. The Assassin does not understand why. Why does this connection to Ethan Sutter cause such fear? It just creates more questions than answers. Still, The Assassin must get him to calm down. He places a firm hand on his shoulder, not just to calm him but to keep him from running.
“Silence yourself.” Clyde says strongly. “Calm down!”
It does no good. The homeless man still struggles. Lilith chuckles softly.
“You are too intimidating, brother. Let me try.”
“By all means.” Clyde states. “You did create this mess.”
Lilith steps in and gently rubs his cheeks.
“There, there, calm down, my dear.” She says soothingly. “We are not here to hurt you. We want to talk, that is all, and perhaps we can help you in the process.” She produces some cash. The homeless man looks at the money, then back up at her. Despite still being a little anxious, he accepts the cash. Lilith steps away, satisfied that he is calm enough not to run off. She looks over at Clyde. “He’s all yours.”
The Assassin rolls his eyes. He cautiously steps to the homeless man.
“Tell me what you know about my father.”
“Ethan?” The homeless man sighs. “Well he was violent…quite often, in fact. Yet he was still charismatic and extremely persuasive. That bloke could get you to buy into anything. He could convince you to believe anything he said was gospel.”
“And what did he speak to YOU about?” Lilith asks.
“Uh, well, he spoke in riddles a lot.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Spoke about destiny and inevitability.”
Lilith nods her head. She turns to Clyde and winks. “Sound familiar?”
“Indeed it does.” Clyde then turns to face the homeless. “We are done here.”
And with that, Clyde Sutter turns and walks off, intending to leave the homeless man alone. He and his sister Lilith already caused the man enough emotional distress by merely mentioning the fact that they were Ethan Sutter’s children. The fear that this stranger had by hearing Ethan’s name was enough to stir up confusion within Clyde himself. What is it about Ethan that sparked so much fear in this individual? There is also the other disturbing reality; the fact that the way this homeless man described Ethan, being violent and spoke of destiny and inevitability, so much comparisons that match up Clyde to a T.
“Clyde, wait…” Clyde can hear his sister calling out to him but he keeps walking. Eventually she does manage to catch up to him “...I apologize if that was distressing for you but believe me, it was necessary that you hear it from him and not me.”
“You knew.” Clyde states coldly. “You knew he would likely say this and you did not tell me.”
“I did warn you it would be difficult.” She says. “But it would be far more difficult if I just told you everything I knew outright. Trust me, this is for the best.”
“So how much longer, sister?” He asks. “How much longer until I get the full truth?”
“There are a few more things I must show you.” Lilith says. “Just have some patience. The truth is coming.”
“Lilith, I already told you that my patience is wearing thin. I am especially angered that we are playing games with my past.”
“OUR past.”
“Fair enough.” Clyde states. “Fine, I will give you a little more time. But something like this, a day like this,” he shakes his head “it will NOT happen again. Are we clear?”
“Yes, crystal clear.”
![[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