[Thatcher Rex]

 

“Thatcher, I need to bail.”

The voice of Madelyne McTaggert drew Thatcher’s gaze away from the desktop, his brow lifting in confusion. They were aboard McTaggert’s private yacht, a brand new purchase. The callous display of wealth baffled Thatcher at times; what did she need a yacht, for? He supposed the luxuriously wealthy used such things as status symbols rather than practical reasons. Not to say it hadn’t come in handy; they both had been staying on it during SCW’s tour of South America, following the coastline when they could and driving in when the location called for it. He could never see buying one for himself; he’d just as soon charter a flight and book a hotel. He’d never been one for lavish possessions, but when Madelyne had offered her yacht’s services, he couldn’t pass up the convenience. At least he knew he wouldn’t be attacked by Team Erik, here.

And now, Maddie said she was leaving.

“What? Why?”

“Friend of mine, Regan Street… she became World Champion of Supreme Championship Wrestling.”

Supreme Championship Wrestling had been the last place McTaggert had worked within the ring, and had even seen her highest achievement there as Women’s Champion. She’d had some issues toward the end, though.

“I thought you hated that place?”

I did, and do.”

Her face darkened at the memories.

“They cheated me! The boss was mad that I had words against him, and he did to me exactly what he did to Syren, and sabotaged me wherever I went, whatever I did!”

Rex held up his hands in mock-defense.

“Okay, okay. I’ve heard the story before. So why are you going back?”

“Regan finally got what was coming to her since day one, and now has the World Title in her possession.”

“Regan… Regan… didn’t she threaten to break into your home, kick your ass, and take the belt you sto- er, commandeered, from SCW in your last match?”

“Yep, that’s my little firecracker.”

Apparently, the two had mended fences. Thatcher mentally shrugged; Maddie made friends and enemies as the wind blew. She and Regan had been very close, but the latter had taken it very badly when she’d left the company. He’d heard something about a meeting the two fairly recently; that must’ve been it.

“When do you need to go?”

“Within a few hours. Don’t worry, I’ll leave the boat for you. But if you get a scratch on him, you’re swimming home.”

With a nod, Rex turned back to the screen. He’d been watching the previous engagements between him and Duke Ata Tupoi, getting a feel for the man’s style. Thatcher was the first to admit, he didn’t know the man’s history. If the past was anything to go by, then he was a tough son of a bitch; he’d have to be, to get the drop on Thatcher and knock him out.

He let out a sigh.

Sunday was going to be rough.


*  *  *


Brazil. In all his time in the wrestling world, Thatcher had never been to this particular locale. He’d been to Europe, Japan, the Middle East, and Canada, but he had never actually performed in Brazil. It was surprising, given that it was the fifth largest country in the world. He strode along the streets, marveling at the vast amount of culture in the area; people here were proud of it, and they should be. The mouth-watering scent of Feijoada met his nostrils, and he made a mental note to stop by one of the restaurants later that night. Vegas had its bright lights and eccentricities, but they were flashy, gaudy. Brazil seemed to be… classy… about it. Thatcher glanced over to a nearby field, where a group of kids were playing soccer – football in this country. He had to remember that; America kind of did its own thing.

An hour ago, he’d engaged in yet another Meet-and-Greet, and was glad to see that even here, he had support. Ages ranged from the very young to the middle-aged, even some older people who still watched wrestling. It warmed his heart, to think they were still following him years later.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Thatcher retrieved it, and pressed it to his ear.

“Rex.”
>[iHe paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other line.

“They’re ready? Excellent. And you’re sure you can have them at the arena by Sunday? Great. Thanks, I owe you one.”

Thatcher hung up, returning the phone to his pocket, a smile on his face.


*  *  *


Hostile Takeover.

The name itself practically prophesies doom for the Loyalists of SCW; Erik Staggs had gained quite a bit of ground in his bid for power, and his top two players have triumphed over those of “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward. That was an embarrassment, and I suspect it is one of the reasons I am being sidelined this week. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to finally settle this score with Duke Ata Tupoi. It’s been a long time coming, and he’s about to get exactly what he deserves: my foot, kicking his face inside out. As fun as that’s going to be, I would’ve loved to take on one from Team Erik. Sure, Tupoi is allied with them, but he’s not even with SCW; he isn’t invested in this. I would’ve loved to give Casey Williams what-for; the jackass thought he could surprise Sinful Obsession and I a few weeks back, but we put him down like the dog he is. Hell, our efforts pushed Giani Di Luca away from Team Erik, starting the division among their ranks. Spike and I didn’t have so much luck, but we’re still the top two in SCW. Belts don’t always mean you’re the best, but they’re a good indicator of who is.

And now, I have my first title defense.

It’s a strange thing to say, that. I’ve been in possession for the Roulette Title for over a month, and the first person to challenge me for it isn’t even on the roster! It’s almost insulting. But I get it. Tupoi wants to not only embarrass me, he wants to embarrass the entire company. Imagine the bragging rights he’d have if he walked out of Hostile Takeover with SCW’s Roulette Title slung over his shoulder. All the accomplishments SCW has achieved would be for not in the eyes of NeWA. We’d be a joke. So I can understand why I wasn’t put on the front lines of the Loyalists vs Team Erik war; while the Loyalists are defending the company from internal threats, Ward wants the Tyrant King to defend it against outside attacks. No bones about it, that is exactly what Tupoi is doing; he, a representative of another company, is attacking Sin City Wrestling.

Sin City is my home, Tupoi, and you are threatening its borders. I don’t take kindly to invaders, son, and you’re no exception. You’ve got a lot of nerve, I’ll give you that much. Attacking me constantly, goading me into a fight… I’d almost be impressed with that level of manipulation. But it’s no manipulation from your end, pal. You’ve accepted a fight with me because you think you’ve got what it takes to put me down. You think you’ve got the sheer power to rip from me my highest accomplishment in SCW to date. But you’re mistaken. I put the title on the line for one simple reason: it’s the bait that you couldn’t refuse. It’s the lure on the end of a hook, and you’re zooming straight towards it like a large-mouth bass, hungry for its next meal. You don’t even see the hook, won’t even know it’s there until it’s pierced your flesh and ripped you into an environment that you’re completely, utterly, and in all ways unprepared for.

You’re blindly rushing into the realm of Thatcher Rex.

The essence of manipulation is to make the opponent think he is manipulating you. You’ve attacked and aggravated me, Duke Ata, there can be no question about that. I’ve wanted to get my hands around your throat and squeeze, squeeze until you’re idiotic little head pops off. You’ve pushed, and pushed, and pushed. You stepped up to me, and pushed as hard as you could… and when I stumbled back, you came in again and again, getting in every shot you could. But you didn’t pay attention to your surroundings, Duke. You pushed so much that, when you stopped, you looked around and found yourself deep in my territory. No escape presented itself, no route to safety. You walked right into a trap, Tupoi, and on Sunday, it will be triggered. You’ll have no way out, nowhere to run, and no one to help.  It’ll just be you, and me. And afterwards, when the dust settles, when the blood and sweat cease to fly, it’ll just be me.

This is my world, Tupoi. You’re no stranger to titles, and you’re a monster. ACW is your territory, and you’ve been the alpha male in that company for the past few months. But this isn’t ACW, Duke. That’s a small bond, and you’re a big fish swimming around… but now that you’ve jumped into the ocean that is SCW, you’ll have to contend with much more than guppies. You’ll have to contend with true powerhouses in the industry, and at Hostile Takeover, you’re facing one of the most deadly in Thatcher Rex. I don’t hold one of NeWA’s four titles, but three of them are held by my compatriots. I work with those champions every day, and I hold a title of my own in their home. You may balk, but I hold a title among champions, and if that isn’t enough to make you second-guess yourself on Sunday, then look into my eye when we stand in the ring. Stare directly into these steel-grey orbs and see your enemy; the determination, the strength, and the sheer force of will raging within him. Look, and know that you are facing a man who can and will halt your momentum with the utmost prejudice. You may be able to do what you want in ACW, Tupoi, but you can’t do it here.

I won’t let you.

This is my home.

This is my title.

Come Sunday, you’re going to know it.