Author Topic: Not Letting This Stand  (Read 450 times)

Offline Thatcher Rex

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Not Letting This Stand
« on: May 17, 2013, 12:24:05 AM »
 
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“Are you out of your damn mind?!”

Madelyne’s voice was almost a screech, her eyes wide with shock. Her hands gripped the edge of the very table Thatcher Rex was sitting at.

“A death match?! Do you have any goddamn clue what something like that could do to you?!”

“Gee, I had no idea you cared.”

“Of course I care! You’re my client. Sort of. And I can’t have my first client ending up dead because he somehow got the notion that he needed to participate in one of the most brutal matches in existence! Do you have any idea what that would do to my reputation?”

Rex arched an eyebrow in her direction, and she gave a sigh of exasperation as she sat down. The idea that he was stepping into such a match really did bother her. And why shouldn’t it? It bothered him a bit, too. No man could say that he held no fear in the face of a death match, let alone a tournament of them. It promised to bring each participant to the edge of their pain tolerance and beyond. It was insanity to sign up for such a thing. And yet, pride was on the line. Pride in one’s abilities. Pride in the respective companies, for Thatcher was a representative of SCW. He was not only fighting for his own glory, but that of Sin City as a whole. He was there to show what SCW was made of, that their champions were every bit as tough and impressive as the rumors suggested.

“Look, Thatcher, I know you’ve been through the toughest of matches in your career. You’ve done everything from electrified cages to exploding mines, and you’ve been able to walk away. But this… you’re tough, but I don’t think you’ll walk away from this one.”

“I’ll be fine. A few more scars here and there, sure, but nothing I haven’t gone through before.”

“But it is like nothing you’ve done before! The sheer brutality makes those Barbed Wire Massacre matches look like Pillow Fight matches! It’s going to test your limits, and will very likely go beyond them.”

“I know, I know. I’m facing men half my age, hungry individuals who want the win more than anything. And the danger is very real. I’m not stupid, Madelyne… a death match is a very dangerous thing.”

“Then why did you put your name into the pot?!”

“I never would have if I thought I couldn’t handle it. Look at what I’ve done in my career; this NeWA tournament was simply the next step. It also puts me at the top of the list for an NeWA title. Not since CWC have I held an inter-fed championship, and I for damn sure want one again.”

Rex already had possession of the Roulette Championship, and that was a source of pride for the big man. He’d fought hard for it, against an unusual number of people, too. He was proud of his accomplishment, but progress was never made by simply being content with what you had. No, Thatcher wanted more.

“I have people chomping at the bit, just waiting for a chance to take the Roulette Title from the Tyrant King. They all think they have what it takes, that I’m some easy target.”

“But you’re not. You’ve proven that time and time again.”

“I’ve proved it to the audience and to management, as well as those who would be my allies. What I want is to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am beyond formidable to my opponents. People like Matthew Kennedy. People like Rage, who was shooting his mouth off on Twitter just a few short days ago. I want them to sit back and think ‘holy shit, maybe I don’t want to mess with this guy.’ They’re not going to think that if I simply beat them in stipulation matches. No, I have to emerge from the bloodiest, most brutal of tournaments that NeWA has ever seen as the victor, as the guy who took on all challengers and came out on top. I’m already the man who can’t be intimidated… and now, it’s time for them to know it.”

Thatcher stood up from the table, his eyes narrowing.

“And they will know it.”


*  *  *


“Republics are created by the virtue, public spirit, and intelligence of the citizens. They fall, when the wise are banished from the public councils, because they dare to be honest, and the profligate are rewarded, because they flatter the people in order to betray them.”
-Joseph Story

Betrayal is, sadly, an increasingly common theme running rampant throughout SCW. It comes in the form of self-interest, of people trying to stomp on others in order to get ahead. This is wrestling; it’s our job to stomp people, but we stomp them in the ring. There is a different kind going about in Team Erik, the members of which are using increasingly brazen methods of cheating others out of what they rightfully deserve. The kidnapping of Christian Underwood, for example, is one of those tactics. His return was promised once certain conditions were met, yet that promise was broken once Erik Staggs was given his power. I’m not going to lie, I half-expected such a thing to happen. Not because I know Staggs better than Ward does, not by any means… but because I’ve seen this happen before. Mark, you played right into his hands. You set a precedent, and you named the price for which you could be bought. Now, Team Erik has you. They can threaten to harm Christian if you don’t meet certain conditions, and you have no idea if they’ll keep their word. But you, being the loyal individual that you are, will have no choice but to meet those demands. I doubt that I could do any different were I in the same position. Loyalty to a friend trumps loyalty to a company, I understand that, but we’re now crippled. Erik has the power, and he will use it to its utmost potential. He’ll harm any who stood in his way.

Nowhere was that more evident than the tag match last week at Climax Control. Matthew Kennedy, Mr. Primetime himself, was a guest referee in that match, and he made sure to stack the deck against Faith and myself. He made sure Casey and Necra had every advantage, even going so far as to assault Faith, giving those bastards the match.

It was yet another betrayal of power, and we’ll be seeing many more along the way if Staggs has his way. But that won’t stop me from exacting a bit of retribution this Sunday on Matthew Kennedy. You see, Matthew, every man can and will be held accountable for his own actions. Karma always strikes, be it now or later. It could be tomorrow, it could be years down the line. In your case, it’s next Sunday. You crossed a line, pal; your antics were aggravating enough, but when you slammed that steel chair into Faith, you sealed your fate, because when we meet on Sunday, I’m going to hand you your own ass. See, you had your little pals to protect you last week; the Skar Brothers and Casey Williams, in addition to you, were stomping the piss out of me. I’m still feeling the effects, but there is something stronger than pain. Something that makes pain cower in the corner, pissing its own pants. Do you know what that is, Matthew? Do you know what emotion could possibly dwarf the physical sensation of agony?

It’s anger, Matthew. And make no mistake, I am beyond angry. You should have stopped to think before jumping at the chance to take advantage of a situation, son. You should have thought about those who have come before, those who thought they could do the same. They saw opportunity and pounced, but in the end, they crashed and burned. They just couldn’t face the Tyrant King, Matthew, and neither can you. Because I’ve seen what kind of man you are. You’re a conniving little weasel who needs the assistance of three other men to keep just one down. That’s right, the numbers game kicked my ass… but next week, you won’t have Casey Williams watching your ass. You won’t have the Skar Bros. to pull their crap at ringside. It’s just going to be you and me. Are you ready for that, Matthew? Put aside your ego for two seconds and answer that question honestly. Are you ready to take on the SCW Roulette Champion who has only been pinned by one man in this company? Are you ready to face the Tyrant King who has flattened each and every individual who has done what you have done?

I think not.

You’re nowhere near ready, Matthew. You don’t have the skill, you don’t have the power, and you sure as shit don’t have the guts. You’re cunning, I’ll give you that, but cunning only gets you so far. The previous Roulette Champion was cunning, too; he sent a team of four men to put me down, to fight his battles. He paid champions to put me down, but it didn’t work. It didn’t last. Cheating, scheming, and lying can indeed get you far, but in the end, you’re going to have to put yourself on the line. You’re going to have to do your own dirty work if you want the glory… and the problem inherent with having other people fight for you is the fact that you’re not improving. You stand by and watch as you use those at your disposal to do your work, but you don’t personally benefit from it. Sure, you get the satisfaction of seeing your enemy put down in front of you, but you’re not personally gaining anything from it. You’re not testing your limits. You’re not pushing yourself. But when you send your people against me, well… the sword is forged in the heat of fire. You’re a blacksmith, Matthew; you shove the blade into the flames, smashing it with a hammer over and over, shaping it. Sharpening it. But that’s all a blacksmith is; his flesh can still be pierced by a sharpened blade, and he has no defense against an individual skilled with the sword.

I saw your recent work for the Lord of the Ring tournament, and let me tell you, son, you were right to get that out of the way. Forget the NeWA tournament, forget your friendship with Tupoi, and forget each and every soul that you’re competing against. Put them out of your mind, and focus on the very real and very close threat that you have to face at home. You’re coming for my title, Matthew, and you think you’re coming with a vengeance. You think you’re going to be the guy who finally drops Thatcher Rex. I’m here to tell you one important thing: each and every person who has gone up against me and lost has thought the exact same thing. “I’m going to be the one! I’m going to put this guy in his place!” Truth is, I’m already in my place; one of the top individuals in all of SCW, the Roulette Championship in my grasp. I’m riding high on a  pedestal, and not one person in this entire company, or any other, can knock me off. Not Duke Ata, not the Brat Prince of Whine, and certainly not you. You may have become a contender, but I’ll tell you right now, it ain’t because of your skill. It’s because you made a deal with the devil, Matthew. You signed over your soul to Erik Staggs for a shot at the title, for a shot at glory. Giani Di Luca did the same thing, and look where he ended up: disgruntled, disappointed, and dismissed.

Look closely at the path you’re following, Matthew, because you’re blazing the same trail as Di Luca. You’re stepping in the very prints left behind by Tupoi. You screwed me over. What part of that did you think I’d let pass? Exactly what is it that ran through your head that made you believe I’d just let that stand? It couldn’t have been history, because history reveals the truth to be the exact opposite of that. So what was it, Matthew? Was it because you had Team Erik standing behind you? God, I hope not… because on Sunday, they won’t be standing at your side. They won’t be anywhere near the ring when we battle it out.

Staggs has backed numerous individuals, believing they could take my title from me, that they could bring me down. Despite all that, I am still standing. I am still here. Send forth your army, Erik Staggs, and send forth your champions. Let them cheat and let them stack the deck in their favor. Let them do anything and everything they can, because the plain simple fact is, it just won’t be enough. The waves you send will crash harmlessly against the rock that is Thatcher Rex, accomplishing nothing but making a loud boom as they’re scattered into oblivion.

I am the Tyrant King.

It is no self-appointed moniker, like so many around here. It wasn’t granted by me. It was a name given to me by old enemies who realized that I was more than what they initially thought. They said I was nothing, that I would be bowled over on their path to greatness.

They were wrong.

And how wrong they were. Imagine their surprise when a man they considered to be weak ended up putting them in their place. Imagine the fear swelling up within them when they realized that Thatcher Rex was not, in fact, some chump off the streets… that he was a force to be reckoned with.

Imagine it for now, Matthew.

Because in three days, it becomes a reality.