"So, you think being one pig's possession is better than not?"

Vanessa looks inquisitively at the camera.

"Atara, dear gyrl, you really do like to tow the naivete line, don't you? You laid down for Warstein, and in turn, he laid on down for you, slapped the mat, and handed you the Xtreme Championship. It's the payoff, but hey, who am I to knock how a sex worker gets their pay? Being a sex worker is one of the few businesses womyn can actually control, and any interference from the patriarchy is truly and utterly sickening. However, it doesn't change the fact that, ultimately, while you insist you aren't a slut for having one pimp, you're certainly still just a hooker. Warstein didn't defend his title against anyone dangerous. You didn't see Warstein taking on all challengers on any episodes of Warfare, Savage, or Anarchy, no, you saw Warstein defend his title against fodder until he settled on you. His perceived property. Even if you did know that, the fact you won't admit it to yourself is just sad, to see your will ground down into paste by a pig, the piece of the puzzle placed by the patriarchy."

"Atara Themis, the XWF's bottom bytch."

Vanessa lights up a cigarette. The light from the lamp overhead illuminating a desolate parking lot. The lively nature of a Friday night stripped away by the novel coronavirus outbreak.

"Now, I saw your promo, and while it pains me to admit it, maybe the piggy that keeps you should have done it for you. It was, well, stilted. Awkward. Pained. The struggle is real, darlin, and watching you talk proves it. I have no clue why you think I need to navigate a website when my business is done in the ring, in front of crowds, to confront, expose, and ultimately topple the patriarchy. The relevance of any of 's IT workers is right up there with CTN, Splat, Sploot, Sploosh, Splish, Splash, GCC, CCG, GCG, or the guest spots you run on E! and Bravo where you talk about wearing clothes on beaches and how that's what defines you or some such. That is to say irrelevant. Is that what your plan is, come Saturday, when your sister, who seems way too timid to actually cut a promo, here's hoping she can handle the violence of a match, and I are in the ring facing you? I let my knuckles connect with those million dollar cheekbones of yours, damaging them my way, freeing you from being a sexual object of the patriarchy, and you tell me it wouldn't happen somewhere else? Gyrl, I don't care about what happens anywhere else. It's happening at Savage. As for whatever being the 'most athlete in the roster' means, I can only chalk that up to, how did you put it? Oh, yeah, being a 'toad sucking hot heat foreign ' as you put it."

"Must be that native Greek tongue of yours is busy butchering the English language in between bouts of licking the boot heels of the patriarchy and the underside of Warstein's gonads."

Vanessa rolls her eyes as a car pulls alongside her. The window comes down. A man is seated inside, leering at Vanessa. Vanessa looks at the man.

Hi, you know it's dangerous out here for a pretty thing like you, do you want a ride?

Vanessa flicks the lit cigarette in through the window. The man looks shocked and gasps.

"Fuck off pig!"

The man, angered, steps out of the vehicle.

Yo, bitch, I was trying to help you, and you want to go off all psycho? You bitches are all the same!

A sneer crawls across Vanessa's face.

"Oh, no we aren't, piggy."

Vanessa starts to step towards the man. His bravado shaken yet again, he raises a hand up, cocked, like he's ready to throw a punch.

"I am nothing like Atara. You will bow."

The man swings, but Vanessa ducks the punch, immediately throwing a shot to the sternum of the man. As it is known, this completely winds the man, and he doubles over gasping for breath. Vanessa grabs the man by the back of the head.

"I am not some object to be fawned over. I am not some damsel who needs a pig to give me things in order to look successful. I am a fucking lyoness in this world, a master fucking predator, thinning the herd with my sister CoVid 19."

Vanessa smashes the man's face into the side mirror of his car. The mirror skitters across the pavement of the parking lot.

"I am womyn. Hear me roar."

Vanessa smashes the man's face into the slightly open driver's side window, which causes it to break clean off the side. The man crumples onto the pavement, blood oozing from his face. Vanessa takes a deep breath, pulls another cigarette out of her pack with her right hand and places it between her lips. She pulls her lighter out of her right jeans pocket and with her right hand flicks it, lighting her smoke and taking a drag. She starts to walk away. The camera follows. She continues to speak, her back turned to the camera.

"Atara, if it's any consolation dear, I have hope for you. You can learn, you can grow, you can flourish and become a womyn. It's why did you the favor you asked and just told the whole world who it is I'm dealing with at Savage. You're welcome for that, I was glad to oblige. However, your growth is far from finished. Do yourself a favor. Stop shaving. If the pigs can get away with it, so can we. Why waste time and money on make-up that's destined to get smeared and marred in combat? Who gives a flying fuck that you're the flavor of the month on a website?"

"You sound as if you have the IQ of a ham sandwych."

"Then again, it might be the fact you've been taking some pig's meat inside you for too long and think it's an accomplishment. You've been handed your fair share of opportunities, Atara. Me, I haven't been handed anything. I'm just going to take what I need. With age, those looks of yours will fade, my spirit will continue to destroy. Looks like the worst thing the patriarchy did was give you so many hand outs, because it's going to hurt like a bytch when I take what I want out on your ass. Then you can thank me, then you can join me, and together we can crush the patriarchy."