All is quiet and still. Not a single soul can be seen on the streets as everybody practices social distancing. In the dead of the night, even some signs of people are usually seen, but now, not a soul is wandering about. That is, with the exception of Vanessa Gibson, seen sitting on the rail of a gazebo, her booted feet resting on a built in bench proper. She flicks the end of her cigarette away and looks at the camera.

"Well, look at all the piggies just squirm these days! The piggy over in London, Boris, he's been sent to intensive care. Whoo-ee, Mothyr Nature sure came around this time, didn't she? The patriarchy sure is in a tizzy now, one hand trembling and wondering what to tweet next, the other still holding on to their pathetic little external testes wondering when it will be safe to go out and rape again, and again, and again. Thrusting their useless little dicks into something warm, wet, and unwilling until they splatter a little useless seed where it doesn't belong so they can abandon yet another child. It took a fucking virus to make pigs stay six feet away from womyn, and even then you have too many swine ready to die because they want to have a fuck. Mothyr Nature is a bad bytch, come to destroy the piggies."

"But I've been putting people in hospitals way before CoVid-19."

Vanessa smiles.

"The patriarchy at large, however, still looms. I mean, look at what they came up with for Savage. They all knew that the rape culture was taking a hit, just like the stock market, the male dominated political spectrums of China and the U.S., so they figured they needed to conjure up some good ole' masturbation fuel for the piggies at home to stroke themselves to by tossing a bunch of womyn into a match for some ad hoc dick beating. The patriarchy's rape fueled sexual stimulus for their packages. They took me and three other womyn, hoping that we would expose ourselves or have some kind of nipple slip so they can tell stories to each other about how they'd ejaculate. The pigs always do this; they boast to each other about how and who they ejaculate with. Dumb fucking swine."

"The saddest part is when womyn subjugate themselves to this way of thinking."

A pair of young males, in their mid to late teens, are seen walking by the gazebo. One looks at Vanessa.

Oh, hey girl!

Vanessa looks at the camera. Her head cocks like a slasher film monster as a sly smile crawls across her lips.

Yo, I'm talking to you.

Vanessa continues to look at the camera with the sly smile as the two young men approach.

Hey, don't be cold, my friend and I just want to have a little fun with you, and you are one damn fine looking woman, I know just what you want.

"Blood."

Huh?

"I want blood."

The two young men look at each other uneasily. Vanessa hops down from the rail of the gazebo and walks towards them. As she approaches, she rears her right fist back and plants it into one of the young men's face, shattering his nose. He crumples to his knees, holding himself up with one hand as his blue gloved right holds his n95 mask which is quickly turning deep crimson from the steady flow of blood from a broken nose. The other young man swings at Vanessa, and she swiftly ducks the punch, throwing a left into the young man's sternum. A dull crack is heard, the sound of broken ribs, as the other young man falls to the ground, struggling to breathe as bone punctures lung. Vanessa turns to the man with the broken nose, steps back, and delivers a punt to his right temple. He falls, unconscious, but his eyes open, the grotesque visage of a human being knocked out cold and rigid dominating the screen for just a moment. Vanessa turns to the other young man, struggling to breathe.

"You wanted my vagina?"

Vanessa reaches into the front of her jeans. After a moment, she pulls her hand back out, holding a blood soaked tampon. She jams it into the young man's mouth. He gags, sputtering on the gore laden cotton through the short pained breaths associated with a collapsed lung, the deep bass of his heaving wheezes breaking the night air.

"What's the matter, piggy? Your mouth was working just fine a minute ago!"

Vanessa looks at the camera.

"Damn it."

After a slight fade, the interior of a convenience store illuminates the screen. Empty, the low buzz of all the lights and refrigeration dominating the sound. Vanessa enters, the fingers of her right hand adorned with crimson traces of her own menstruation. A man wearing a surgical mask and blue latex gloves peers at her from behind a sheet of plastic. Vanessa waves at him with her bloodied hand.

"Bathroom?"

Vanessa smiles as she asks. The cashier points behind him to a doorway.

"Thanks!"

Vanessa notes the bathroom. Her attention turns to the coolers, a menagerie of beverages available for purchase. Vanessa grabs the handle to one cooler with her still bloodied hand, and with the other pulls out a bottle of cranberry juice. She cracks it open and starts to down it right in the store. The man behind the counter looks on incredulously, silenced by the shock of someone breaking quarantine with a bloody hand. Once finished, she tosses the bottle into a trash bin near the self serve coffee station. She turns and walks over to the register, reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a ten dollar bill. Traces of her blood are left on the bill as she lays it on the counter. The man behind it, horrified, shakes his head.

No charge.

Vanessa's demeanor turns sour, the shift in her mood swift and fierce.

"Piggy, I don't want your charity, I'm not some girl who needs a hand out."

"I am a womyn, and I don't need your pity."

Vanessa wads up the bill and throws it at the man. He nearly dives out of the way of the bloody cash. Vanessa turns to the screen.

"It's disgusting what the pigs will do. Absolutely filthy. No piggy is as pure as what I flush out of my body once a month."

Vanessa turns back to the man.

"I'm buying another bottle of juice."

The man nods, terror in his eyes, hoping the incensed woman sharing her bodily fluids everywhere isn't infected with novel coronavirus. Vanessa returns to the cooler and opens it again, pulling out another bottle of cranberry juice. She turns to the camera, twists the plastic cap off, and takes a sip. She looks contented.

"So, first, hello to Osira! Us womyn really should stick together through all this, especially since once the patriarchy gets wiped out and all the piggies are left for breeding purposes only we're going to have to take over. It's a shame the pigs in charge thought it would be cute to have you go up against your sister in the ring, but leave it to the patriarchy to demean and decry sisterhood. No womyn should have to confront her sister for the entertainment and pleasure of a bunch of pigs."

"As such, allow me."

"First, though, let's discuss Rebel Star. A cookie cutter representation of what pigs want, prepackaged and available at Hot Topic, buy one get one 50% off. The bad gyrl type, cooked up in some board room by the patriarchy to create something for the Harvey Weinsteins of the world to victimize. Rebel, you're about as much a womyn as a Barbie doll; unrealistic and prefabricated to be the bad gyrl, through and through. The sex object pigs are supposed to find mysterious and dangerous, because retro eyeliner and a dye job aren't the kind of womyn that they see in churches, synagogues, mosques, or other temples to the patriarchy. They're the gyrls with low self esteem, that needed body modification to feel like a sex object, to feel desirable enough to be wanted to please a pig."

"You're fit for their trough, not for battle."

"Then there's Atara Themis. Atara has been a force to be reckoned with in the XWF, hasn't she? I could point at losing to Peter Gilmour after his threats of being used for sex and dominance, but that's really passe isn't it?"

"Let's talk about how she got opportunities after laying on her back for Shawn Warstein."

"What the fuck are you but a thing for the patriarchy to ejaculate to? You're as useful as a Fleshlight to most of the pigs out there, but it doesn't mean you have to fucking act like it. Sexual freedom is one thing, being objectified is another, but that's not for me to complain about. If you want to be an object, Atara, I can treat you like one too, specifically a punching bag. Most of the pigs out there want a piece of your ass, don't they? I mean, Peter can't get enough, but he'd stick his dick into a meat grinder if he thought it would give him a blow job. Speaking of which, you'd blow Tom Hardy's dad to see where Tom Hardy came from? Look, if you haven't figured it out by now, pigs will take attention and some ass from anyone willing to give it. I support your ability to be a ho, and please continue doing whatever makes you happy, but check yourself if you think it's because you're really cool, or attractive."

"It's because you're willing to lie down and take what the patriarchy offers."

"It's why you're content taking Warstein's leftovers in the Xtreme Championship, being his side piece, being a part of his story, the doll in the pig sty. You're the little spider in the corner telling everybody that Shawn is 'some pig', 'radiant', 'terrific', and 'humble', sight unseen, letting him have the spotlight and the glory, fulfilling the desires and needs of the patriarchy. You don't want to stand up and fight like an actual womyn, you want to be the princess, and in order to be the princess you need princes and kings to give you value. Hell, to the average pig, you're about as useful as a fleshlight too. The thing is, you have a chance to see the light. The pigs see me in the same way too."

"We can all win this fight, but you just need to join me and womynhood en masse to destroy the patriarchy."

"Cast down those shackles put on you by the pigs. Be the action figure, and not the box one came in. Look at the XWF right now. Shane , a rapist pig who needs to feel relevant, Centurion, the Hart Champion who clings to relevance by sleeping with womyn half his age, preying on their naivete. I won't prey on your naivete, no, I will expose it though in the ring, because while you're busy adjusting your tops or pinching your tights out of your ass crack so the pigs will find you more attractive, I'll just be ready to beat the shit out of you with these."

Vanessa holds up both her hands. Her right, still adorned with her own menstrual fluid, and her left, are rough looking things. Nails trimmed short lest they get damaged in combat. Knuckles and digits made thick and barbarous through years of thrown punches.

"These don't jack dicks off, they rip them."

"Look at the front office. Vinnie Lane owns a lingerie football team, because when womyn play football they don't need the protective equipment the pigs do that play in the NFL. He's all about having a good ole' jerk while watching womyn victimize each other. Fuck, Atara, Theo tossed you, the Xtreme Champion, into a fun little tornado tag team match instead of giving you real competition for that title because he thought you're just another helpless little gyrl who can't fight the monsters like Bourbon or Engineer, he doesn't even have faith in you. I do, though. You can actually shine, be the womyn everyone deserves, you don't need to lie down for the patriarchy and take their cues anymore. You waste your time even feeding into Peter's warped ego."

"I'd have castrated him by now."

"Rebel, Atara, stand with me. Stand up against the patriarchal bullshit that keeps us down, that makes you subservient and submissive. Rise up, and like coronavirus, let's ride with Mothyr Nature and reclaim this whole planet for womynkind, flushing out the patriarchy like my uterus flushes out the wasted eggs I don't need. It will be painful, but ultimately, it will leave our bodies better and stronger."

Vanessa downs the rest of her cranberry juice and leaves the empty bottle sitting on the counter. She turns and walks to the bathroom she was pointed towards earlier, raising her right hand. The bloody tip of her middle finger accentuates the 'fuck you' gesture said digit entails as she flips the bird to the camera behind her back.