Clyde Sutter vs. Shaun Cruze

[Konrad Raab]

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: WEDNESDAY, December 17, 2025 at 11:59:59 pm ET (NOTE THE DEADLINE – this is for both shows)

[Owen]

PREVIOUSLY…OFF CAMERA

(Shaun sits with his head bowed, a towel over his head, breathing heavily after his exertions. He’d got the finale he had wanted and finished his career in the way he had wanted, and right now his body was telling him that the time was right. Occasionally, someone walks past, congratulating him on his victory, but he remains underneath the confines of the towel, really engaging himself in this moment, drinking it in. He wasn’t listening, however, to the noise from the capacity crowd, knowing that this would be the final time this would happen, the last opportunity for himself experiences a career that had been so good for him. In truth, the only thing he believed he was truly good at. Of course, he’d had businesses, but factually it was others who had made him his money. He’d been an ‘ok’ actor, though you wouldn’t get many to agree. But it was here, in the depths of an arena, where he had truly felt alive, and now that would soon be over forever, and he couldn’t help but have at least a minimal amount of sadness. He finally pulls the towel from his head, revealing for the first time that he is grinning from ear to ear. He chuckles to himself, knowing that Konrad Raab would be raging… and yet couldn’t do a thing about it. He’d miss that too… knowing that he had proven a point yet again. As finales went, it was up there with Owen walking away as World and United States Champion.)

“Looked good out there Unc.”

(Shaun turns his head to face his nephew Owen, who had made a point of being here, having been through this himself, and how difficult it had been for him to walk away.)

Owen: I mean, I think we all knew you’d beat Konrad, but with his goons around, you could never be sure.

Shaun: Hey, it was tough, take nothing away from Konrad, the old man can still go. But yeah, it felt good. And at Rise to Greatness as well… perfect end.

Owen: And the perfect impact… pun intended

(It was a reference to Shaun and Kelcey’s tag team for a long-gone era. Shaun still stayed in touch with Kelcey, but he’d always loved her being around.)

Shaun: Proper historian, aren’t you? Doubt anyone even remembers us guys.

Owen: Don’t be daft, this place won’t be the same without a Cruze running around. Dad will be looking down with a smile, I know it. But the Cruze legacy is over now, the business will have to go on without us.

Shaun: I’m sure they will be fine.

(Owen nods, SCW had been around before them, and it would exist without, there was an inevitable certainty in that. But the Cruze family would never been forgotten, they had all made sure of that.)

Owen: So, is that it then, all loose ends tied up?

Shaun: Yeah, contract will be terminated at midnight tonight, and then tomorrow morning I’ll do the final handover to Blake for Impact Media. Come tomorrow night, I’ll be like you, a man of leisure and get to spend time with my family. And I have you to thank for that

Owen: Me? Why?

Shaun: For giving me the inspiration to walk away from all of it. It wasn’t easy, but seeing how happy you are, it made me realize it would be the right thing to do for me. If you hadn’t, I’d still be stressing about the next movie, or what the next subject of a documentary was going to be. Going forwards, I’ll only need to look out for my family instead of so many staff. Can’t wait.

Owen: And what about this?

Shaun: What, wrestling?

Owen: Yeah.

Shaun: I was just thinking, other than being a Dad, it is literally the only thing I’ve ever been good at. With Impact Media, and Acting, I always had someone helping me, but here it was always all on me. But yeah, since Taking Hold of the Flame I’ve felt more like fifty than my actual age, and if I carry on, someone will eventually do what Konrad couldn’t and perhaps cause me permanent injury. I don’t want to be a burden on Angyalka, especially since she had supported me through everything. I want to be a proper Dad to Dorothea instead of just being on edge all the time with all the responsibilities. I love wrestling, I love competing, and you know what, I’m fucking good at it. But you’ve got to weigh these things up, and walking away is the right thing to do.

Owen: Totally agree. And it’s not like you need the money.

(Shaun laughs)

Shaun: Yeah, I reckon I’ll be ok. One bottle of Jack Daniels a week instead of two

(They both laugh, turning as Chris Clay walks in. Chris was a private investigator who had done a lot of work for the Cruze family in the past and had been given a priority seat by Shaun as a thank you. He doesn’t have the look of a man who has been enjoying the show however and instead has a serious look on his face. Owen offers a fist bump which Chris obliges, never taking his eyes off Shaun, which Shaun recognizes.)

Shaun: You ok bro… I wasn’t that bad out there, was I?

Chris Clay: Could I have a word… in private.

(He turns to Owen, who then looks at Shaun.)

Owen: Hint taken… I’ll go take in the rest of the show. Find me once you’re done?

Shaun: Of course.

(Owen leaves the dressing room, Chris closing the door behind him without a single word.)

Shaun: What’s going on Chris?

(Chris still doesn’t speak and sits down on the same bench Shaun is sitting on.)

Shaun: Well, this isn’t concerning enough.

(Chris pulls his mobile phone from his pocket and holds it on his lap face down.)

Chris Clay: Sorry man, I know you are probably on a high right now, but this couldn’t wait.

Shaun: OK, so what’s going on?

(Chris takes a deep breath before continuing.)

Chris Clay: Recently I took a case, a husband who believed his wife was having an affair.

Shaun: OK

(Chris doesn’t even smirk, which unnerves Shaun still further.)

Chris Clay: So, I did the usual, followed her around, and for a while, nothing was particularly suspicious. I was just about to give up and report back, when I followed her to a restaurant, where she met up with a man.

(Chris takes another breath, before turning the phone over and showing Shaun a picture, Shaun’s eyes widening before he takes a closer look. He then looks at Chris, as if looking for confirmation of what he was looking at. )

Chris Clay: I’m sorry Shaun, but there is no mistake. That’s you, isn’t it?

(For a moment Shaun looks confused, ready to question whether it is or not. He takes hold of the phone and stares at it intently, there was no question, it was him and there was no getting away from it. He passes the phone back to Chris and eventually he manages to find the words he wanted to say.)

Shaun: There is a perfectly innocent explanation for this.

(Without saying a word, Chris scrolls through his screen, obviously hating that he was having to do this. He finds what he is looking for, before passing the phone bac to Shaun.)

Chris Clay: Press play…

(Shaun looks at the still image of a car and does what he is told. He watches as Shaun and the woman get out of the car, pausing for a moment before sharing a kiss, the kiss of a pair that were much more than friends and certainly not in the slightest innocent. He doesn’t want to but feels compelled to keep watching as they walk up to a motel room and go inside. At this point he has seen enough, not wanting to know what Chris had captured next. He hands the phone back and shakes his head.)

Shaun: Fuck

(Chris puts his phone away, understanding his friends’ emotions.)

Chris Clay: I’m sorry bro. I don’t know what you plan to do with this, but I’ll hold off on telling the husband to give you time to get your head around it and decide what you want to do. But I’ve got to tell him what’s going on, you know that right?

Shaun: I appreciate that… but what AM I going to do?

Chris Clay: I don’t know bud; I just do my job… there’s a reason I don’t give relationship advice. If you’ve made a mistake, then I suggest getting ahead of it and telling Angyalka the truth. But if you have feelings for her… well, that’s a totally different scenario. You’ve got a child, and no matter how you go about it, this doesn’t end well for you.

(Shaun sits in silence, feeling like he already knew how this was going to end for him. It was all on him, and he’d made a huge mistake and that stung. Worst still, he knew full well how Angyalka would react, and it still hadn’t stopped him from committing adultery. Once again, wrestling had exposed a Cruze marriage, the exact reason why Owen had walked away. Shaun had made his decision too late… and already knew that he had to take the entirety of the blame if their marriage was over.)

RECORDING…ON CAMERA

“They always come back.”

(Shaun appears on screen, his face covered in a stubble that didn’t seem to have been well kept, a tee shirt, jeans and a pair of scuffed trainers his attire of choice. He greets the camera with what could pass a smile but isn’t totally convincing.)

“That’s the belief, isn’t it? People walk away from this company but except for the few, they always make their surprise return months later, the lure of the lights bringing them back. It’s become one of this companies cliches that no one ever really retires, they just have a rest, recharge the batteries and then step back front and center, looking to claim former glories.”

(Shaun leans forwards and clasps his hands in front of him.)

“That is going to be the inevitable narrative that will surround me in these coming months. Orlando retired and came back three times, even swapping companies on one of those occasions. Owen even went away for a while but then came back to try and claim back some of the respect he lost when he walked away. I’ve gone away before, twice I think for varying reasons, but this time I was certain it was over. After almost winning Taking Hold of the Flame and then beating Konrad Raab, I was ready to leave it all behind. Let me make it clear, I haven’t come back because I want to. I haven’t come back to claim former glories, though I hope I am still capable. I’ve not even come back to put down a former rival or end a long-standing grudge. I’m here and back in Supreme Championship Wrestling for one reason, and one reason alone. I NEED to, because without it, I may as well not even exist. The Shaun Cruze you knew, the media mogul who literally seemed to have it all is no more. I compete now, quite simply in the same way I did when I first started. I MUST, or else it is ALL truly over.”

(He takes a deep breath before he continues, composing himself for what would come next.)

“I know right, all a little mysterious. I could just come out and say it, explain in full just how far the once mighty has fallen. It would be ever so easy for me to pull on the emotional strings of the SCW fanbase, and filter off all the sympathy I can muster, but that just isn’t me. I’m not going to come out here and bear my soul to everyone, nor do I expect people to not have opinions or make guesses as to how the last two years have changed who I am. Quite simply, I am here to compete. I am here to win matches and climb that ladder once again. I am here out of necessity. It wasn’t easy, persuading the management here to take a chance on me. I understand that CHBK has taken a risk, putting me back on a roster that has moved on from the Cruze family who are now nothing more than a distant, perhaps fond for some memory. Being back, is like getting your hands on one of those fluffy fleece blankets that come out when Winter starts to draw in. Stepping back into a SCW ring, feels like returning home, after what seems like a lifetime away. Like I say, I needed this. I wanted this. I couldn’t continue without that security that those three initials bring. Maybe, one day I will tell my story. Perhaps if I can stabilize this bullshit that has become my life, I will be able to put into words just how it went so wrong. I reiterate, with respect, to keep your sympathy, I don’t want, nor do I ask for it. My name, quite rightly, doesn’t mean a damn thing to the people that have kept this company thriving while I’ve been away. All I want to do is be left alone, to begin again, to be given the time to do exactly that. To stand at the bottom of that ladder, looking up at all those that have deservedly paid their dues, knowing that the only way to move forwards, both personally, and professionally is by stepping over each and everyone of them as I make my way back to the top. Because I literally have no choice to do exactly that.”

(He becomes aware that he has stepped right back into functioning in front of a camera even though it had been a while since he had. He had stopped short of explaining in full but didn’t want people to think he was just like everyone else and had gone back on his word. It wasn’t like it was a secret anyway, a simple search on the Internet would at least give people clues. But he didn’t want that to be the focus, he wanted his story to be about the man who once again climbed the mountain and reached the top, reclaiming more than just a symbolic championship, claiming his life back at the same time. He wanted people to talk about him again, but for the right reasons. Those were his goals, and he was going to achieve them, turning it all around.)

“So, I guess the question has to be, am I still capable?”

(A shrug of the shoulders makes his opinion clear.)

“And the answer to that is, I simply don’t know. It seems very familiar, doesn’t it? For me to be saying I’m not sure I’m still able to compete, because I was saying the same things prior to Taking Hold of the Flame, and we all know how that panned out. I wasn’t disappointed not winning, coming top ten against a bunch of people who will in their prime showed me I could still go. In my mind, I’m still the same guy that claimed the World Championship, way back whenever it was. When I look at myself in the mirror, I’m still the same man who strived to instill a sense of morality into everything I ever did. Everything you have heard from me thus far, and may in the future, hasn’t dampened my desire for a business that made me. In fact, if anything, the desire is even greater than it was before. It’s no longer just about becoming a World Champion for the first time since 2014. Eleven years, wow. It’s about being able to step into any room, and say hey, I’m Shaun Cruze. And instead of being ashamed of what I became and proud of the fact I came through.

Better than I ever was.

Let me make it clear to everyone right now, and especially my opponent on Breakdown. Even after everything I have said, no matter how it seems, I’m not coming back to Supreme Championship Wrestling as cannon fodder, or to be dragged out to romanticize this company’s story. I’ve spoken of a needs must yes, but don’t consider me weak, or someone that is going to allow individuals to make a name off the back of defeating me. I’m not a mug returning when I’m way past my sell-by date. I can still do this and be better than most. The question is, can I come back, and be better than what is one of the most talented rosters in the world. And that is one heck of a question to try and answer, because it is over a decade since I stood atop this company as its World Champion. Eleven years ago, the Impact Player ruled the roost. So much has changed in that time, competitors have come and gone. But there is one thing that remains true. The one thing that will carry me forwards, till I once again achieve those goals. NO ONE can match my heart. VERY FEW can match my courage. And when you put that together with the fact I have proven my wrestling skill time and time again, it’s clear. I CAN do this. I WILL do this. I’ll do this for myself, and for Supreme Championship Wrestling, who when asked, took the chance on me once again. There will be detractors, and there will be those who dismiss, but when all is said and done, it will be they who look foolish, not me. The only person who I need to prove all of this to is myself, the rest of it will all fall into place given time. When all is said and done, and I return to my rightful place, there is one thing that will be certain.

Once again… you WILL know, MY name.”

(Shaun nods towards the camera, determined and ready. The scene then slowly fades.)

[The Assassin]

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December 2nd, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
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The restaurant occupied the top floor of a converted Georgian townhouse in Mayfair, its tall sash windows looking out over a rain-slicked Berkeley Square where the plane trees dripped steadily onto the roofs of black cabs. Inside, the room felt like a hushed conspiracy of velvet and candlelight. Crystal chandeliers hung low enough that their prisms scattered tiny rainbows across the white linen tablecloths whenever someone passed beneath them. The walls were paneled in dark walnut, the kind of wood that had absorbed decades of cigar smoke and whispered deals, and between the panels hung vast gold-framed oils of long-dead aristocrats who seemed to watch the diners with the weary tolerance of people who had seen every human folly at least twice. Clyde Sutter sat with his back to the room, facing the windows so that the cold silver light from outside carved sharp shadows across his face. He was tall enough that even seated he seemed to take up more than his share of space, shoulders broad beneath the charcoal wool of his suit jacket, the collar of his black shirt open just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo that disappeared beneath the fabric. His hair, black and straight and a little too long, was pushed back from his forehead as though he’d run his hands through it too many times already tonight. He held a glass of red wine but hadn’t drunk from it in ten minutes; instead he turned the stem slowly between his fingers, watching the liquid cling to the sides of the bowl like blood that refused to fall.

Across from him, Melinda Braddock looked as though she had been cut from winter sunlight. Her hair, the pale gold of ripe wheat, was swept up in a loose twist that let a few fine strands escape to brush the nape of her neck. She wore a sleeveless dress the color of midnight water, simple but expensive, the kind of dress that relied entirely on the wearer’s bone structure to keep it from looking ordinary. A single string of pearls rested against her collarbones, rising and falling with each careful breath. Her hands were folded in her lap now, but every so often her right thumb worried at the emerald on her left ring finger, an unconscious habit she probably didn’t realize she had. The table between them had been set for three. The third chair waited like an accusation, its brocade cushion still perfectly smooth, the napkin folded into an elaborate bishop’s miter that no one had dared disturb. A small arrangement of white roses and eucalyptus sat in the center, the flowers so fresh that droplets still clung to their petals, catching the candlelight in trembling prisms. Silverware glinted. Water glasses sparkled. Everything was flawless, and everything felt wrong. From somewhere deeper in the restaurant came the low murmurs of conversation, the delicate clink of cutlery against porcelain, the occasional ripple of polite laughter that never quite reached the eyes. Waiters in black waistcoats moved between the tables with the silent efficiency of people who understood that their job was to be invisible until required.

Clyde’s gaze flicked toward the entrance for the third time in as many minutes. The maître d’ stood there beneath a crystal sconce, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of serene authority, but even he seemed to sense the tension at table nine. Melinda noticed the glance and her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. She reached for her own wine and took a sip that was more fortification than pleasure.

“Clyde…” Melinda whispered “...you’re making me nervous.”

“There is good reason to be nervous, my love.” He remarks cooly. “This is my sister we are dealing with.”

“Yes, I know.” Melinda sighs. “I’m not exactly pleased with this idea, myself, but it was YOUR idea. Besides, don’t you trust in Fate?”

Even The Assassin cannot help but laugh and even admire how his lovely fiance threw his belief in Fate right back in his face. He nods his head in agreement.

“Too true, my love. Still, even with the confirmation that Fate is in control, it does not make this particular evening any less troublesome. Do you think Mr. Cruze will look forward to what Fate has in store for him at Shattered Reality?”

“Shaun Cruze is a fool and he doesn’t believe in Fate.” Melinda remarks.

“If he did he would be terrified, and rightfully so, because Fate has written in the stars that I shall end his miraculous comeback before it can even begin.”

“But he’s not afraid because Shaun Cruze is ignorant to Fate.” Melinda says. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss. So babe, instead of worrying yourself to death and, in turn making me a nervous wreck, why don’t you try being a little ignorant just this one time, huh?”

“You mean pretend as if my sister isn’t some dangerous criminal who could easily have lured us into a trap this evening?”

“Yes. Exactly. Let’s pretend that!” Melinda nods her head.

“Very well.” Clyde takes a sip of his wine. “Ignorance is bliss.”

Outside the windows, London continued its evening performance: headlights sliding along wet asphalt, umbrellas blooming and folding like black flowers, red double-decker buses shouldering through the rain with imperial indifference. Big Ben tolled the half hour somewhere in the distance, the sound muffled by the glass and the rain and the thick walls of money that surrounded them. Inside, the minute hand on the ormolu clock above the fireplace crept forward with excruciating patience. They had arrived twenty minutes early. Now the early arrival felt like a mistake. Every second stretched, elastic and unbearable. The air between them carried the faint scent of Melinda’s perfume and the sharper note of Clyde’s cologne, cedar and black pepper, undercut now by something metallic that might have been nerves.

Melinda set her glass down with deliberate care, the base making only the softest click against the linen. She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the cloth, then let her hand fall back to her lap. Clyde watched the motion, then looked away again, out at the rain. His jaw flexed once, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave away that morning. The third wine glass waited, empty and expectant. The third plate gleamed. The third chair sat empty, but not for much longer. Somewhere near the entrance, the maître d’ inclined his head to a newcomer just stepping out of the lift, shaking droplets from an umbrella. Clyde saw it first. His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. Melinda followed his gaze, and for a moment her face went very still, as though someone had pressed pause on her heartbeat. The rain kept falling. The quartet played on. And in the warm, moneyed hush of the restaurant, the temperature at table nine seemed to drop several degrees all at once.

Then she arrived.

Lilith Sutter stepped out as though the restaurant had been waiting for her all evening and had only just remembered how to breathe once she arrived. She moved with the unhurried certainty of someone who had never needed to ask permission for anything in her life. Tall, almost as tall as Clyde in her heels, she wore a black silk blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers the color of wet ink, cut sharp enough to look weaponized. A long camel coat hung open over her shoulders, its hem brushing the backs of her calves with every step. The coat alone probably cost more than most people’s rent, but she wore it like something she’d thrown on because the night air had teeth. Her hair was the same unrelenting black as her brother’s, but where Clyde’s was simply long and a little wild, Lilith’s was disciplined into a low, sleek knot at the nape of her neck, every strand obedient. The style exposed the clean architecture of her skull, the dramatic hollows beneath cheekbones that could have been carved with a scalpel. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the chandeliers, made the deep red of her mouth look like a fresh wound. A single diamond stud glinted in one ear; the other lobe was bare, as if she’d decided symmetry was for people who still had something to prove.

“That devil…” Clyde remarks under his breath.

“Your sister.” Melinda snickers.

She paused just beyond the velvet rope, letting the maître d’ take her coat without looking at him. As the heavy cashmere slid from her shoulders, the room seemed to recalibrate around her. Conversations didn’t stop, exactly, but they thinned, voices lowering half an octave, the way animals quiet when a larger predator passes through the tall grass. Even the quartet faltered for a single bar before recovering. Lilith’s gaze swept the dining room once, clinical, proprietary, then settled on the table where her brother and Melinda were seated. A faint curve touched her lips, not quite a smile, more the acknowledgement a cat gives a mouse that has foolishly decided to stop running. She started forward. When she reached the table, she did not pull out the waiting chair. She simply stood behind it, one manicured hand resting lightly on the back, the other holding a slim black clutch that looked capable of hiding either a lipstick or a garrote. For a long moment she studied them both, head tilted a fraction, as if she were cataloging new bruises on old toys. Then, with the fluid inevitability of dark water filling a mold, she sat.

“You are late.” Clyde’s remark is pointed and cold. No emotion with the exception of, perhaps, a little bit of annoyance.

“My apologies.” She says nonchalantly. “Traffic was horrid.”

“You! Were! Late!” Clyde’s frustration is beginning to boil over. It startles Melinda because she has seen him at his worst. Lilith, for whatever reason, doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

“Like I said, traffic was horrid.”

“Lilith, you wanted this meeting. You have wanted me right here and now for a very long time. To get me here you have harassed me to no end. You offended my future wife! You put a hit out on her ex-boyfriend! You destroyed my friendship with Joey! You even tried to get to me through my uncle, through Mason Van Stanton!”

“What can I say?” Lilith chuckles softly. “I enjoy a good game.”

“This is not a game!” Clyde shouts which gets the attention of other patrons. Melinda is startled. Lilith wags her finger at him, tauntingly.

“Careful, dear brother. You will get us thrown out.”

Clyde Sutter’s anger and rage is at its tipping point. Melinda Braddock senses this and quickly speaks up.

“Look, what Clyde is trying to say is that you never did endear yourself to us. We have no reason to trust you let alone give you this meeting that you demanded. Yet here we are and you could have had the decency to be on time.”

“You are correct and I do apologize.” She answers. “This meeting was my idea and here I am, late to my own party. How many times must I say it?  I apologize.”

Melinda Braddock looks at her fiance. The Assassin is still angry but she can tell he has it under control now, so she remains quiet and lets him take over the conversation.

“Just get to the point, sister. What do you want?”

“Perhaps I should ask you?” Lilith grins. “What is it that you think I want, dear brother?”

“I believe the answer to that is quite obvious.” Clyde says cooly. “You want me to join with you in your life of crime.” He shakes his head. “It will never happen. I have left that life.”

“YOUR life of crime was relegated to petty street crimes, dear brother, while I ran a powerful criminal organization.” She snickers. “We are not the same. I offered you that power and you turned me down. I was disappointed at first but my exile in Russia taught me a few things; namely, that you will never turn back to crime and rule by my side the way I had hoped.”

“Good. Perhaps it is possible to get something through that thick head of yours after all?” The Assassin’s words cut through Lilith. Again, Lilith is not bothered.

“I still want you to join me, Clyde.” She states. “Going forward, my entire organization will be legitimate. I am…how is it that your street rat friend Joey would likely put it…I am going straight.”

“I find that claim highly dubious.” Melinda chimes in quickly. “Like Clyde said, YOU ordered the hit on Archie!”

“The boy you were going to marry before you reunited with my brother?” Lilith sighs and nods her head. “Yes, yes I did that.”

“And you almost killed me in the process!”

“You were not the target.” Lilith states. “Before you go and say something you shouldn’t, Ms. Braddock, know that I have given my brother a peace offering. I punished Mason Van Stanton for the crimes he committed against my brother. I will give you the same peace offering. Anything you want, name it, and I will give it to you.”

“There’s nothing I want from you.” Melinda snaps.

“Oh but everyone wants something.” Lilith winks. “Just think about it. You don’t have to tell me tonight.”

“My beloved has a point.” Clyde states. “Your claims are dubious. You may say that you are going straight…but legally doesn’t always mean the same thing as ethically.”

“What a bright boy you are!” Lilith exclaims. “You are correct, dear brother, just because my organization’s actions will be legal going forward does not mean they will be ethical.”

“So have you truly changed?”

“Have you changed?” Lilith points a finger at Clyde. “Are you little mister ethical? You may not be the raging monster that once abused ‘your beloved’ over there, but how did you get the money to pay for the psychiatric help that you needed to get that rage under control?  Oh yes, that’s right, you were…and still are…the hired muscle for The Page Family of professional wrestling. In SCW you were the hired muscle for The Fall of Man. In another organization you and Melinda here broke a man’s leg just because you could.” Lilith smirks knowingly. “Yes, it was within the confines of professional wrestling, so it wasn’t illegal, but was it ethical to break that man’s leg?  Is it ethical to do the dirty work for the Page family or The Fall of Man?”

“No…” The Assassin hates to admit it but his sister is right. He may be on the right side of the law now but he is hardly an upright individual. Melinda isn’t sure she likes how this conversation is going she looks at Clyde, then at Lilith, then back at Clyde again. Lilith just snickers.

“What is it that you want?” Melinda asks.

“I am not asking for my brother to help me pull off any crimes. I am not even asking him to join me as I attempt to take my organization and make it legitimate. I merely want one thing,” she holds up one finger, “I want a relationship with my brother. I want to wipe the slate clean and start fresh.”