Post by Sarah Twilight on Apr 24, 2016 16:26:38 GMT -5
Friday, April 22nd 2016
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
11:26am
Four Seasons Hotel
A cool, brisk morning under the mostly cloudy skies of Toronto is what Sarah Twilight finds waiting for her as she emerges from the lobby of the Four Seasons hotel. Toronto was bustling as it always was during the business hours of the day. Jam packed traffic lines the streets, consisting of various taxi cabs and agitated drivers rushing to get somewhere. Honking horns and a few yelled obscenities are the majority of sounds that carry throughout the main thoroughfare. At curbside, various vendors sell food and drinks. Unlike New York, hot dogs and pretzels were not the limited choices on the menu. The vendors here had much higher quality food for sale as if they'd gotten the items from a restaurant and proceeded to wrap them for resale at their warming cart. Sarah takes in the scenery in front of her and quickly purchases a bottled water from one of the vendors. The Mistress of Mischief is casually dressed with a dark blue pair of denim jeans, a black tee shirt with a posed picture of Sarah herself on the front and the phrase "You Don't Matter" written across the back of it. Her sterling silver pentacle charm dangles around her neck as per usual and a pair of white Nike sneakers with black swoosh and trim round out the simple outfit. Sarah's gorgeous red locks of hair flow elegantly in the gentle breeze created by her quickly walking from the lobby toward the street. Sarah is currently on the phone as her eyes glance around at the various vehicles on the street. It was apparent she was waiting on someone. In her other hand she holds her bottled water along with some sort of document that she repeatedly turns her attention back to inbetween glances to the street. Her phone conversation is already under way and Sarah sounds quite aggravated at whatever the situation was.
Sarah: You know I don't have time for this shit
She listens for a few moments to the person at the other end of the line before responding.
Sarah: No, you need to handle this. Immediately means ... like now. That's what it says
Another brief moment to gather a response as Sarah pauses on the phone.
Sarah: I don't know? Probably because I bashed her in the fucking skull with a ring bell on live television?
Sarah grows more impatient as the conversation continues.
Sarah: Look, I don't have time to go back to Philly just so that some retard rent-a-cop can ask me a bunch of stupid questions he already knows the answers to
After a few more moments, her demeanor starts to change as it was apparent that whomever she was speaking to was handling the situation.
Sarah: Alright, great. So it's settled then? I don't need to be in Philly, right?
A long sigh of relief escapes Sarah's lips as it is confirmed for her. She crumples up the document and tosses it to a nearby trash receptacle. The discarded paper bounces off the rim of the trash can and falls onto the ground beside it, unnoticed by Sarah. As if she would care about such a trivial thing anyhow. The Mistress of Mischief carries on the remainder of her phone conversation and her attention once again returns to the street, looking for someone.
Sarah: Where the hell is that driver? In this traffic, I'll be lucky to make it by one
She comments, mostly to herself, despite still being in the middle of a phone conversation. Eventually she can make out the silver stretch limousine that had been provided for her as it slowly makes it's way through the traffic toward her.
Sarah: Ride's here ... I'll talk to you later. Glad all that bullshit is taken care of. ... Yeah, . ..Thanks, ... Bye
As Sarah waits for the limousine to get itself through the mass of cars sluggishly moving along the road, the sound of hoof beats slowly moving along the cemented sidewalk approach closer and closer to the ostentatious redhead. Sarah doesn't pay it much mind ... that is until a voice calls out to her from behind.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to come with me, eh."
Sarah turns around to see a man on horseback, wearing a bright red jacket and a ridiculous looking hat upon his head. He was quite obviously a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. His demeanor was nothing but serious. No expression of any kind upon his clean shaven face. His eyes forward as he looks directly at Sarah and his posture almost too perfect for his mounted position atop the horse. Sarah is taken completely off guard by the comment and has no idea what this man could possibly want with her.
Sarah: Excuse me?
The Mountie's expression never changes as he just plainly states again that Sarah was going to be taken into custody.
Mountie: You're going to have to come with me, Ma'am. We have zero tolerance for the kind of things you're doing. I'm afraid you're going to have to answer for it
Still completely puzzled as to what was going on, Sarah tries to consider the possibilities. Was this officer planning to detain her for Philadelphia police to come and speak to her? Had the situation not been handled? Was there some kind of miscommunication to the fact that Sarah wasn't required to travel back to Philly any longer? These thoughts race through her head as she tries to validate any form of justification for this Mountie to be about to arrest her. That is ... until he points out the "kind of things" that Sarah's been doing. The Mountie points down to the crumpled up paper that Sarah had tossed to the trash receptacle. It flutters around on the pavement as short gusts of wind carry throughout the street. Sarah's eyes go wide with shock and disbelief as the Mountie maintained his composure and was very serious about the matter.
Mountie: Tis a serious violation. One I cannot turn a blind eye to. No ma'am, not me. I take pride in this fair city and we won't be having disrespectful tourists fouling it up with all of their garbage
Sarah looks at the mountie as if he'd completely fucking lost it. She was not in the mood for such a stupid encounter and lashes out at the officer.
Sarah: Are you fucking kidding me? Jail? ... For littering?
She moves over to where the paper was on the ground and picks it up, tossing it into the trash can.
Sarah: There. Now it's in the damn trash. Are you fucking happy?
Mountie: There's no need for swearing young lady. I'm sorry but I'm afraid I've already documented the violation. You'll have to be coming with me now
Sarah can't even believe what she's hearing as the mountie hops down from his horse and removes a set of handcuffs from a pouch on his belt. The limousine Sarah had been waiting for finally makes it curbside in front of the hotel as the exchange with the mountie continues.
Sarah: What fucking violation?! I put the fucking paper in the trash!
The mountie shakes his head ever so slightly as he slaps the set of handcuffs onto Sarah.
Mountie: You should have done so the first time when you had the chance, eh?
Sarah pulls away from the mountie, despite being in handcuffs and is not going to go with the man quietly. Especially not for something as trivial as littering.
Sarah: No! I'm not fucking going anywhere but into my car. Get the fuck off of me!
The commotion draws the attention of another nearby mountie. This one a bit older than the one she was currently dealing with. The gold tassles and various gold insignia on his red jacket would indicate that he was also of a higher rank than the man placing her under arrest.
Older Mountie: What seems to be the trouble here?
The younger mountie begins to explain the situation to his superior, but Sarah was not going to keep her opinion of the matter quiet.
Sarah: A piece of fucking paper! Paper that I just put into the fucking trash can ... this is a joke! A fucking joke!
After hearing both versions of what had taken place the older mountie sighs with a bit of a frown.
Older Mountie: Now now, Roy. We've talked about this. There ain't no good reason to be sending that fine young woman to the klink over a little bit of paper
Mountie: But ... but sir. If we don't enforce the laws, we're going to end up like those American cities. This has to be answered for
Sarah sits there shaking her head at the fact that THIS conversation was even taking place. The redhead grits her teeth, NOT happy that she was currently in handcuffs as the two mounties discuss the matter.
Older Mountie: Well of course we don't want people just throwing their trash wherever they choose. But the lady here did put her trash in the receptacle when you mentioned the misdeed. Now then, we can just send her on her way with a warning. I'm sure she won't be doing such things again. Isn't that right Miss?
Sarah forces a smile through gritted teeth and nods her head. Having to fight the urge to completely snap at both of them. The entire thing was completely stupid to her and as they continued to banter back and forth about it, she STILL remained in handcuffs ... for throwing a piece of paper on the ground.
Older Mountie: See that, Roy? She's not making any trouble. Now why don't you take those cuffs off of her and apologize for putting her through such a mess
Roy the mountie shows expression for the first time as his jaw falls agape.
Mountie: Apologize? But ... Sir ..
Older Mountie: I don't want to hear no two ways about it, Roy. Apologize to the lady
Begrudgingly, Roy undoes the handcuffs from Sarah's wrists and stands himself up straight, barely looks her in the eyes and delivers a very flat apology.
Mountie: I'm sorry for the trouble, Ma'am
He gets back onto his horse and heads back off to patrol. His narrowed eyes and pouted lips indicate that he was not at all happy to have been smacked down by his superior. The older mountie sighs and shakes his head, before offering a much more sincere apology of his own.
Older Mountie: I'm deeply sorry for any trouble that's been caused. You'll have to forgive Roy boy ... he takes the job a bit too seriously sometimes.
He tips his hat in a show of respect towards Sarah and turns off himself, most likely to keep Roy in line. Sarah finally is able to step into the limousine that was there waiting for her and she is completely furious.
Sarah: Damn fucking goofy lumberjack looking motherfuckers!
The limousine heads off from the hotel as some of the traffic had cleared up by now. Sarah takes a drink of her bottled water before rolling down the window and tossing the bottle out onto the road ...simply out of spite for what had just happened to her.
Friday, April 22nd 2016
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
1:04pm
Cliffcrest Plaza
The Office of Dr. Emily Stratfield PhD.
The main waiting area to this three story Psychiatric and Psychology center was rather plain. Bland white walls were lined with uncomfortable black plastic chairs for patients to sit and wait to spend an hour talking to a complete stranger about their problems. A coffee table that looked like something out of the nineteen seventies, or trying too hard to look retro sits a foot or so away from the chairs. There are various outdated magazines for patients to read as they waited. A water cooler bubbles just across the room and it was obvious that the jug needed to be changed out soon. A few faux potted plants serve as the only actual decorations to the room. The only other items gracing these mundane walls were plaques depicting the various degrees and certifications that Ms. Stratfield had acquired. These were displayed neatly behind the large oak receptionist desk that made up the forefront of the entire waiting area. Perhaps the degrees and such were out on display to someone reassure these poor, pathetic souls that the doctor was qualified to listen to their problems and offer some sound advice. There seated in one of the squeaking plastic chairs was Sarah Twilight. She was filling out some standard paperwork prior to her appointment. The kind of nonsense questions that are always asked on such forms. Do you have any pre-existing medical issues? Are you happy today? Just a bunch of crap that wastes time and detracts from the fact that Sarah's appointment was at one o'clock and it was now five after. I suppose if you keep someone occupied with irrelevant forms to fill out, you hope that they don't notice that you are not on time for the appointment.
Sarah completes the forms ... mostly without reading any of the questions as she was well aware that this was a waste of her time. She signs her nae at the bottom and sighs, looking down at the page with dismissal. She shrugs and gets up from the chair, placing the clipboard and forms onto the receptionist's desk. Surprisingly, the receptionist manages to acknowledge Sarah inbetween the six dozen phone calls she'd been answering for the last few minutes.
Receptionist: Thank you. Doctor will be with you shortly.
Sarah returns to her seat and just waits. It seems like forever before the so-called doctor finally emerges from the back. The woman is young, probably a few years younger than Sarah and she is definitely much shorter than Sarah was. She has shoulder length, strawberry blonde hair with the bangs being neatly trimmed at the front to part and set the outline of her face. She wears a powdered blue blouse with a long gray and white skirt that comes well past her knees and to her calves. She wears white open toed shoes and a set of hoop earrings. Her look is casual yet very professional for her particular career choice. The idea was to be neat, but comfortable enough to make your patients feel comfort as well. The woman looks down at a notepad she was holding at her side and checks what she'd jotted down.
Dr. Stratfield: Sarah Twilight?
Emily looks up from her notepad as Sarah rises from her seat and heads toward the doctor. Emily extends her hand with a warm smile.
Dr. Stratfield: Pleasure to meet you. Right this way.
Sarah is led back into Emily's office which was by far much more appealing to the eye than that dreadful waiting lobby. The walls were done in wood paneling, stained for a cherry oak finish. The floor was carpeted with a thick, plush beige rug that sunk like a soft pillow with every step. A brown leather sofa was pushed back on an angle against the wall giving a beautiful view of the bay through the vertical blinds that were opened, allowing whatever sunlight that could be gotten through this cloudy day to enter the room. Emily's desk was modest and was very neatly organized with a desk lamp, pens, and a few other trinkets. Behind the desk, a bookshelf that contained various literature on common psychological issues and disorders. More degrees and certifications were hung proudly beside the bookshelf. Emily takes a seat in her leather arm chair and sits back, sighing with contentment at the comfort of the chair. Sarah takes her seat on the sofa and she almost sinks into it as if she were sitting on air. It was indeed quite comfortable. Emily, as part of her job of course ... breaks the ice.
Dr. Stratfield: So, Sarah. What can I help you with today? What brings you to see me?
Sarah stretches herself out, getting ever more comfortable as she offers up her response.
Sarah: Well me? Nothing. I'm not here for myself.
Emily nods. She'd heard this statement a thousand times. Patients come in, feeling a bit embarrassed by whatever troubles they were facing and decide to use the guise of being there for a friend or relative. It was always an easy way to talk about one's problems without directly attributing them to one's self.
Dr. Stratfield: That's alright, Sarah. If you're here to talk about a friend, that's perfectly fine. So why don't you tell me what kind of issues your "friend" is facing?
Sarah narrows her eyes at Emily. She could detect the subtle, yet noticeable tone which was very condescending. As if this bitch knew anything about Sarah to be making any assumptions.
Sarah: First of all ... no I'm not here to talk about a "friend." Secondly, if you speak to me like that again I'm going to rip that fucking tongue out of your mouth. Got it?
Emily jots something down on her notepad. She nods and apologizes for offending Sarah with her remarks. After that tension is eased, Sarah continues as to why she was here.
Sarah: The reason I'm here is because a co-worker of mine has a very unhealthy obsession with me.
Emily's ears perk up. This was certainly different than what she had expected to hear. It wasn't the standard deflection of problems after all.
Sarah: We've worked together on and off for about four years ... and the fucker is just smitten with me for whatever reason.
Emily nods her head as she listens. She offers up a question of her own.
Dr. Stratfield: And you? You don't feel the same way, I gather?
Sarah again narrows her eyes. This time insulted at the insinuation that she would EVER be interested in someone like Polar Phantasm.
Sarah: Fuck no. That pathetic piece of shit can rot in hell for all I care.
Dr. Stratfield: Is there sexual harassment? Unwanted advances?
Sarah shakes her head and was really getting annoyed that this woman kept interrupting her with stupid questions.
Sarah: No, there's none of that shit. Look, I started working for the company back in 2012. Shortly after I got there this guy shows up. He parades around with a chick that maybe, kinda looks somewhat like me ... but definitely not as attractive. I mean she's got the red hair, my eye color ... the whole thing. Then he tries to parade this bitch around like some kind of badass or whatever and she's just ... not. Like he went and found himself some bitch who would pretend to be me for him so he can live out some sick fantasy. I mean, I'm not even quite sure she's human. Knowing this fucker he built himself some Weird Science fembot or something. Like one of those sex dolls, but it talks.
Emily is listening on, very interested at this point. The conversation had barely been going on five minutes and already it was far more interesting than anything any of her patients had ever discussed with her.
Sarah: The problem is ... he thinks he's like fucking James Bond ... and that I'm Xenia Onnatop or Pussy Galore or some shit. He truly believes that he's going to woo me because he thinks he's some irresistible man. I'm telling you this moron has watched Tomorrow Never Dies one too many fucking times.
Emily quirks a brow as she jots down some more notes into her notepad.
Dr. Stratfield: And this man, he targets you as his love interest, why exactly?
Sarah: Because he thinks I'm some Bond villainess who he has to win over by being a seductive, manipulative spy. I don't fucking know! He thinks he's saving the world on a nightly basis. In reality, he's sipping coffee, making a fucking fool of himself with his play pretend bullshit and occasionally sticking his dick into that weird fucking fembot of his while calling out my name.
Emily jots down a few more things and poses yet another question to Sarah.
Dr. Stratfield: How do you know these things? I mean ... what kind of work is it that you do to even have exposure to all of this?
Sarah sighs, as if she just expected this woman to "get" everything she was talking about.
Sarah: I'm a professional wrestler, okay? And him? I don't know what the fuck he is, but he sure as hell isn't a wrestler. He is whatever the hell he envisions himself as during the self induced comas he puts himself into with whatever drugs he has to be on to actually believe any of the shit that comes out of his mouth. I mean this guy probably parades around in a suit and tie with talking wrist watches everytime he drifts off into retard land. He most definitely imagines me at his side, the evil villainess whom he's managed to sway into his ever important, world saving arms. Somewhere in the recesses of that pea brain of his, he's off traveling the world, being daring and dashing and maybe traveling to fucking outerspace fighting Stormtroopers with light sabers. I don't fucking know, and I don't fucking care.
There is by now a MASSIVE amount of note taking being done by Emily who just continues to listen to this fantastic story.
Sarah: Thing is, when he wakes up from that dream of his, and realizes he's not sleeping next to Sarah Twilight but instead is sleeping with Nightmare ... oh yes, he named his little fembot Nightmare. I suppose that "Not Quite Sarah" would have been too obvious. But shit, at least the name is appropriate. It's a reminder to him that reality for him is a nightmare. That he isn't some super agent fending off public enemy number one and being handed the keys to the city. He's not traveling the world sipping martinis and serenading women with his charm. He's not on a top secret mission in which the fate of the world hangs in the balance. He's just some shit stick, who has never and will never amount to anything. He can imagine whatever the fuck he wants from the comfort of mom's basement. None of that matters when he steps into reality ... the reality where I beat the fucking shit out of him.
Emily looks a bit concerned at this point and stops writing down notes. Instead, she addresses the threat of physical violence.
Dr. Stratfield: I highly recommend that you do not engage in any type of violence with this individual. It appears to me that he suffers severe psychotropic hallucinations. He has obviously sunk into a level of delusion far beyond reproach. I cannot condone acts of violence toward an individual like this. I would suggest that he seek psychiatric help immediately.
Sarah: Listen lady ... he and I ... we're going to have a fight, one way or the other. And no matter how many times that he's wished upon a star that I'd end up in his arms with his riding off into the sunset ... it's just not going to happen. Unfortunately for him, the only three seconds of his entire life that I will EVER being laying atop him with my body that close to his, will be during a time when he is completely fucking unconscious! And by the time he wakes up, he will realize that his Spy Kids bullshit was never going to cut it in the ring against someone like me. He will FAIL because in reality, he is just not in my league.
Sarah becomes very passionate about everything she is saying at this point. Every moment she mentions Phantasm t's like a raging fire grows from within her and she cannot wait to extinguish it with her actions.
Sarah: I came here because I find it ridiculous that I even have to talk about this ... with anyone. I am the most successful woman EVER in professional wrestling and this is what I get? A fucking guy who talks to his shitty computer thinking it's going to unlock the codex of the universe for him if he screams Rosebud at it? I find it insulting that his name is listed on the same marquee as mine.
Sarah waves her hands in disgust even thinking about it.
Sarah: You know what? I don't give a shit, let him bring his little iceberg computer, and he can bring "Not Quite Sarah" with him so I can beat this shit out of that fembot bitch too! Put that bitch back in the junkyard heap where his dumbass found her. This ... this is exactly like that fucking mountie from earlier today. Stupid fuck thought he was so much more important than he actually was. Thought he had so much more power than he actually did. This is Polar Phantasm to a fucking tee. He's just a worthless waste of space who has managed to make himself "appear" relevant by hanging around with people far more talented than he will ever be. But it's not going to be that simple for him anymore. He's not just going to be Jonny Fly or Steve Orbit's bitch ... grabbing their coffee. No, he's about to become MY bitch and I'm going to snap every bone in his body.
Emily doesn't ask any question. She just takes notes and pretends like she knows who Jonny Fly or Steve Orbit are. Just by her earlier responses it should be evident that Doctor Stratfield has never watched wrestling before.
Sarah: I'm going to beat that mother fucker so badly that he may just snap out of his Land of Make Believe and realize "Hey, I completely suck, what am I doing here?" And we can only hope that is enough to convince him to go back to wherever the fuck he came from, with his fembot with the new found realization that he doesn't belong in WCF ... and he sure as SHIT doesn't belong inside a ring with Sarah Twilight.
Sarah takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. She pushes her hands into the sinking cushions of the sofa and makes her way up from her seat. Emily finishes up taking a few notes and looks a bit surprised that Sarah had suddenly stopped and had gotten to her feet.
Dr. Stratfield: Sarah, where are you going?
Sarah: Ya know, that was good. I needed that. I feel much better, all that tension just put out there. I guess it's not so bad after all. I mean, I can waste thirty seconds or so to put Phantasm out of his misery. You did a real good job, Doc. I'll recommend you ... or something.
Emily looks rather puzzled as she hadn't exactly done anything. She was however, curious to get to know Sarah a bit more after being given all kinds of information about Polar Phantasm.
Dr. Stratfield: Wait! I think it would be beneficial for us to talk about ... you for a little bit. So that we can better gage the possible consequence of pairing you with someone so mentally unstable.
Sarah had already made it to the door and was about to step out when she turns back to Emily with a mischievous smirk upon her face.
Sarah: Oh me? ... I'm a witch.
She winks with a sinister laugh as she exits the room and closes the door behind her leaving the most confused psychologist in history there to ponder everything she'd just heard. Emily looks stressed out. Spies, witches, talking fembots. Her shoulders sink in defeat.
Dr. Stratfield: I need a drink!
Sunday, April 24th 2016
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
2:17pm
Air Canade Centre
The arena is being set up for WCF's Aftermath pay per view event later in the evening. Fans have not yet begun to make their way inside as the door were closed to the general public for the time being. Only arena and WCF staff were permitted to enter the building this early. Sarah Twilight was here very early for the last few hours of her workout routine as she always was prior to every WCF live event. The Mistress of Mischief has her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail with a purple scrunchie. She is wearing a plain black athletic tank top and a pair of black Nike athletic pants. She has wrist tape wrapped around her and wears a plain black pair of Nike sneakers that were far more worn out than any other pair she wears at any given time. The shoes were broken in, comfortable and perfect for her training regimen. She walks one of the backstage corridors of the arena toward the weight room that was routinely set up by WCF prior to all events for their talent to use before performing. She carries her gym bag at her side which contained her wrestling gear that she would be wearing later in the night in her contest with Polar Phantasm. As she approaches the weight room she is blindsided by an intruding Hank Brown and a cameraman he had convinced to follow him around backstage. It was quite commonplace for Hank to try and squeeze in a last minute interview, especially at a major event like Aftermath. In all likelihood, Hank had been walking these corridors for several hours already in the hopes that he would find a few of the talent to speak with. This intrusion was not a welcome surprise for Sarah who's greeting to Hank is a very volatile one.
Sarah: What the fuck do you want now?
Hank appears dejected with the manner in which Sarah had addressed him. Sometimes he wished he didn't have the job that he did so he wouldn't have to take so much abuse. Nonetheless, Hank soldiers on with the job he was here to perform.
Hank Brown: I just wanted to get any final statements you might like to make in regards to your match later this evening with the Polar Phantasm?
Sarah was already directing her hot temper toward Hank. And his query about Phantasm only added fuel to the fire. She had heard so much talk about Phantasm all damn week that she was completely sick of it all. She grabs the microphone from Hank and shoves him out of the way.
Sarah: You ... look over here, now.
She reaches out her hand and grabs the camera and focuses it in her direction. She makes sure the camerman maintains that focus and does not drift away from the order he was given.
Sarah: You want my thoughts on my match with the Polar Phantasm? You want my fucking thoughts?
Sarah looks directly at the camera, ignoring that Hank was a few feet away from her and almost ignoring the fact that she was, in fact, speaking to a camera.
Sarah: Let me tell you something dipshit. You're not a fucking Power Ranger, you're not some international man of mystery. You're a delusional little boy. Pathetic, and sad ... that's what you are. You better listen good, because I don't give a shit about your code names and your imaginary missions. You can ask your fucking computer, use a magic 8-ball, hold seventy five meetings with the remnants of Pantheon and use some fucking Tarot cards while you're at it. The answer is going to be the same no matter which fucking way you look at it. Sarah Twilight is going to BEAT Polar Phantasm. There is no seal team six, there is no magic mushrooms or hunchback fembots that are going to help you. I am going to kick your ass. I am going to break you and I am going to humble you in front of the entire world and there isn't a DAMN thing that you can do about it. I'm going to bash in your skull, I'm going to rip and tear your flesh, I am going to inflict damage upon you the likes of which you have never fucking SEEN! And with every blow, with every new snap of your bones, with each moment that it becomes harder for you to breathe, and with every second that goes by in which you slip in and out of consciousness ... I want you to remember one thing ... I did this to you. I want you to retain that one bit of information and store it deep in that head of yours. Sarah Twilight beat ths shit out of the Polar Phantasm so badly, so decisively ... that he was forced to go back to calling himself Kid Phantasm. Sarah Twilight decimated you so very fucking badly that you had to start over.
The grin upon Sarah's face and the deep lack of any form of human compassion within her eyes was holding nothing but the pure evil and malice that lurked behind those beautiful eyes. Beneath that facade of beauty, a hideous monster of a human being. A woman with the blackest of hearts and holding no soul, no remorse within any fiber of her being. She snickers lightly, amused by this ... Kid Phantasm.
Sarah: You've had four years to prepare for this ... this is your dream come true, the match you've waited for for the entire duration of your pathetic, flailing career. Well let me tell you something, Kid, you've had those four years of preparation ... and you are STILL not ready for the ass kicking you're going to get tonight!
Sarah abruptly tosses the mic to Hank Brown, who after a bit of fumbling, actually manages to catch hold of it. Sarah shoves the camera out of her face and heads into the weight room.
Fade to black.
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
11:26am
Four Seasons Hotel
A cool, brisk morning under the mostly cloudy skies of Toronto is what Sarah Twilight finds waiting for her as she emerges from the lobby of the Four Seasons hotel. Toronto was bustling as it always was during the business hours of the day. Jam packed traffic lines the streets, consisting of various taxi cabs and agitated drivers rushing to get somewhere. Honking horns and a few yelled obscenities are the majority of sounds that carry throughout the main thoroughfare. At curbside, various vendors sell food and drinks. Unlike New York, hot dogs and pretzels were not the limited choices on the menu. The vendors here had much higher quality food for sale as if they'd gotten the items from a restaurant and proceeded to wrap them for resale at their warming cart. Sarah takes in the scenery in front of her and quickly purchases a bottled water from one of the vendors. The Mistress of Mischief is casually dressed with a dark blue pair of denim jeans, a black tee shirt with a posed picture of Sarah herself on the front and the phrase "You Don't Matter" written across the back of it. Her sterling silver pentacle charm dangles around her neck as per usual and a pair of white Nike sneakers with black swoosh and trim round out the simple outfit. Sarah's gorgeous red locks of hair flow elegantly in the gentle breeze created by her quickly walking from the lobby toward the street. Sarah is currently on the phone as her eyes glance around at the various vehicles on the street. It was apparent she was waiting on someone. In her other hand she holds her bottled water along with some sort of document that she repeatedly turns her attention back to inbetween glances to the street. Her phone conversation is already under way and Sarah sounds quite aggravated at whatever the situation was.
Sarah: You know I don't have time for this shit
She listens for a few moments to the person at the other end of the line before responding.
Sarah: No, you need to handle this. Immediately means ... like now. That's what it says
Another brief moment to gather a response as Sarah pauses on the phone.
Sarah: I don't know? Probably because I bashed her in the fucking skull with a ring bell on live television?
Sarah grows more impatient as the conversation continues.
Sarah: Look, I don't have time to go back to Philly just so that some retard rent-a-cop can ask me a bunch of stupid questions he already knows the answers to
After a few more moments, her demeanor starts to change as it was apparent that whomever she was speaking to was handling the situation.
Sarah: Alright, great. So it's settled then? I don't need to be in Philly, right?
A long sigh of relief escapes Sarah's lips as it is confirmed for her. She crumples up the document and tosses it to a nearby trash receptacle. The discarded paper bounces off the rim of the trash can and falls onto the ground beside it, unnoticed by Sarah. As if she would care about such a trivial thing anyhow. The Mistress of Mischief carries on the remainder of her phone conversation and her attention once again returns to the street, looking for someone.
Sarah: Where the hell is that driver? In this traffic, I'll be lucky to make it by one
She comments, mostly to herself, despite still being in the middle of a phone conversation. Eventually she can make out the silver stretch limousine that had been provided for her as it slowly makes it's way through the traffic toward her.
Sarah: Ride's here ... I'll talk to you later. Glad all that bullshit is taken care of. ... Yeah, . ..Thanks, ... Bye
As Sarah waits for the limousine to get itself through the mass of cars sluggishly moving along the road, the sound of hoof beats slowly moving along the cemented sidewalk approach closer and closer to the ostentatious redhead. Sarah doesn't pay it much mind ... that is until a voice calls out to her from behind.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to come with me, eh."
Sarah turns around to see a man on horseback, wearing a bright red jacket and a ridiculous looking hat upon his head. He was quite obviously a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. His demeanor was nothing but serious. No expression of any kind upon his clean shaven face. His eyes forward as he looks directly at Sarah and his posture almost too perfect for his mounted position atop the horse. Sarah is taken completely off guard by the comment and has no idea what this man could possibly want with her.
Sarah: Excuse me?
The Mountie's expression never changes as he just plainly states again that Sarah was going to be taken into custody.
Mountie: You're going to have to come with me, Ma'am. We have zero tolerance for the kind of things you're doing. I'm afraid you're going to have to answer for it
Still completely puzzled as to what was going on, Sarah tries to consider the possibilities. Was this officer planning to detain her for Philadelphia police to come and speak to her? Had the situation not been handled? Was there some kind of miscommunication to the fact that Sarah wasn't required to travel back to Philly any longer? These thoughts race through her head as she tries to validate any form of justification for this Mountie to be about to arrest her. That is ... until he points out the "kind of things" that Sarah's been doing. The Mountie points down to the crumpled up paper that Sarah had tossed to the trash receptacle. It flutters around on the pavement as short gusts of wind carry throughout the street. Sarah's eyes go wide with shock and disbelief as the Mountie maintained his composure and was very serious about the matter.
Mountie: Tis a serious violation. One I cannot turn a blind eye to. No ma'am, not me. I take pride in this fair city and we won't be having disrespectful tourists fouling it up with all of their garbage
Sarah looks at the mountie as if he'd completely fucking lost it. She was not in the mood for such a stupid encounter and lashes out at the officer.
Sarah: Are you fucking kidding me? Jail? ... For littering?
She moves over to where the paper was on the ground and picks it up, tossing it into the trash can.
Sarah: There. Now it's in the damn trash. Are you fucking happy?
Mountie: There's no need for swearing young lady. I'm sorry but I'm afraid I've already documented the violation. You'll have to be coming with me now
Sarah can't even believe what she's hearing as the mountie hops down from his horse and removes a set of handcuffs from a pouch on his belt. The limousine Sarah had been waiting for finally makes it curbside in front of the hotel as the exchange with the mountie continues.
Sarah: What fucking violation?! I put the fucking paper in the trash!
The mountie shakes his head ever so slightly as he slaps the set of handcuffs onto Sarah.
Mountie: You should have done so the first time when you had the chance, eh?
Sarah pulls away from the mountie, despite being in handcuffs and is not going to go with the man quietly. Especially not for something as trivial as littering.
Sarah: No! I'm not fucking going anywhere but into my car. Get the fuck off of me!
The commotion draws the attention of another nearby mountie. This one a bit older than the one she was currently dealing with. The gold tassles and various gold insignia on his red jacket would indicate that he was also of a higher rank than the man placing her under arrest.
Older Mountie: What seems to be the trouble here?
The younger mountie begins to explain the situation to his superior, but Sarah was not going to keep her opinion of the matter quiet.
Sarah: A piece of fucking paper! Paper that I just put into the fucking trash can ... this is a joke! A fucking joke!
After hearing both versions of what had taken place the older mountie sighs with a bit of a frown.
Older Mountie: Now now, Roy. We've talked about this. There ain't no good reason to be sending that fine young woman to the klink over a little bit of paper
Mountie: But ... but sir. If we don't enforce the laws, we're going to end up like those American cities. This has to be answered for
Sarah sits there shaking her head at the fact that THIS conversation was even taking place. The redhead grits her teeth, NOT happy that she was currently in handcuffs as the two mounties discuss the matter.
Older Mountie: Well of course we don't want people just throwing their trash wherever they choose. But the lady here did put her trash in the receptacle when you mentioned the misdeed. Now then, we can just send her on her way with a warning. I'm sure she won't be doing such things again. Isn't that right Miss?
Sarah forces a smile through gritted teeth and nods her head. Having to fight the urge to completely snap at both of them. The entire thing was completely stupid to her and as they continued to banter back and forth about it, she STILL remained in handcuffs ... for throwing a piece of paper on the ground.
Older Mountie: See that, Roy? She's not making any trouble. Now why don't you take those cuffs off of her and apologize for putting her through such a mess
Roy the mountie shows expression for the first time as his jaw falls agape.
Mountie: Apologize? But ... Sir ..
Older Mountie: I don't want to hear no two ways about it, Roy. Apologize to the lady
Begrudgingly, Roy undoes the handcuffs from Sarah's wrists and stands himself up straight, barely looks her in the eyes and delivers a very flat apology.
Mountie: I'm sorry for the trouble, Ma'am
He gets back onto his horse and heads back off to patrol. His narrowed eyes and pouted lips indicate that he was not at all happy to have been smacked down by his superior. The older mountie sighs and shakes his head, before offering a much more sincere apology of his own.
Older Mountie: I'm deeply sorry for any trouble that's been caused. You'll have to forgive Roy boy ... he takes the job a bit too seriously sometimes.
He tips his hat in a show of respect towards Sarah and turns off himself, most likely to keep Roy in line. Sarah finally is able to step into the limousine that was there waiting for her and she is completely furious.
Sarah: Damn fucking goofy lumberjack looking motherfuckers!
The limousine heads off from the hotel as some of the traffic had cleared up by now. Sarah takes a drink of her bottled water before rolling down the window and tossing the bottle out onto the road ...simply out of spite for what had just happened to her.
Friday, April 22nd 2016
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
1:04pm
Cliffcrest Plaza
The Office of Dr. Emily Stratfield PhD.
The main waiting area to this three story Psychiatric and Psychology center was rather plain. Bland white walls were lined with uncomfortable black plastic chairs for patients to sit and wait to spend an hour talking to a complete stranger about their problems. A coffee table that looked like something out of the nineteen seventies, or trying too hard to look retro sits a foot or so away from the chairs. There are various outdated magazines for patients to read as they waited. A water cooler bubbles just across the room and it was obvious that the jug needed to be changed out soon. A few faux potted plants serve as the only actual decorations to the room. The only other items gracing these mundane walls were plaques depicting the various degrees and certifications that Ms. Stratfield had acquired. These were displayed neatly behind the large oak receptionist desk that made up the forefront of the entire waiting area. Perhaps the degrees and such were out on display to someone reassure these poor, pathetic souls that the doctor was qualified to listen to their problems and offer some sound advice. There seated in one of the squeaking plastic chairs was Sarah Twilight. She was filling out some standard paperwork prior to her appointment. The kind of nonsense questions that are always asked on such forms. Do you have any pre-existing medical issues? Are you happy today? Just a bunch of crap that wastes time and detracts from the fact that Sarah's appointment was at one o'clock and it was now five after. I suppose if you keep someone occupied with irrelevant forms to fill out, you hope that they don't notice that you are not on time for the appointment.
Sarah completes the forms ... mostly without reading any of the questions as she was well aware that this was a waste of her time. She signs her nae at the bottom and sighs, looking down at the page with dismissal. She shrugs and gets up from the chair, placing the clipboard and forms onto the receptionist's desk. Surprisingly, the receptionist manages to acknowledge Sarah inbetween the six dozen phone calls she'd been answering for the last few minutes.
Receptionist: Thank you. Doctor will be with you shortly.
Sarah returns to her seat and just waits. It seems like forever before the so-called doctor finally emerges from the back. The woman is young, probably a few years younger than Sarah and she is definitely much shorter than Sarah was. She has shoulder length, strawberry blonde hair with the bangs being neatly trimmed at the front to part and set the outline of her face. She wears a powdered blue blouse with a long gray and white skirt that comes well past her knees and to her calves. She wears white open toed shoes and a set of hoop earrings. Her look is casual yet very professional for her particular career choice. The idea was to be neat, but comfortable enough to make your patients feel comfort as well. The woman looks down at a notepad she was holding at her side and checks what she'd jotted down.
Dr. Stratfield: Sarah Twilight?
Emily looks up from her notepad as Sarah rises from her seat and heads toward the doctor. Emily extends her hand with a warm smile.
Dr. Stratfield: Pleasure to meet you. Right this way.
Sarah is led back into Emily's office which was by far much more appealing to the eye than that dreadful waiting lobby. The walls were done in wood paneling, stained for a cherry oak finish. The floor was carpeted with a thick, plush beige rug that sunk like a soft pillow with every step. A brown leather sofa was pushed back on an angle against the wall giving a beautiful view of the bay through the vertical blinds that were opened, allowing whatever sunlight that could be gotten through this cloudy day to enter the room. Emily's desk was modest and was very neatly organized with a desk lamp, pens, and a few other trinkets. Behind the desk, a bookshelf that contained various literature on common psychological issues and disorders. More degrees and certifications were hung proudly beside the bookshelf. Emily takes a seat in her leather arm chair and sits back, sighing with contentment at the comfort of the chair. Sarah takes her seat on the sofa and she almost sinks into it as if she were sitting on air. It was indeed quite comfortable. Emily, as part of her job of course ... breaks the ice.
Dr. Stratfield: So, Sarah. What can I help you with today? What brings you to see me?
Sarah stretches herself out, getting ever more comfortable as she offers up her response.
Sarah: Well me? Nothing. I'm not here for myself.
Emily nods. She'd heard this statement a thousand times. Patients come in, feeling a bit embarrassed by whatever troubles they were facing and decide to use the guise of being there for a friend or relative. It was always an easy way to talk about one's problems without directly attributing them to one's self.
Dr. Stratfield: That's alright, Sarah. If you're here to talk about a friend, that's perfectly fine. So why don't you tell me what kind of issues your "friend" is facing?
Sarah narrows her eyes at Emily. She could detect the subtle, yet noticeable tone which was very condescending. As if this bitch knew anything about Sarah to be making any assumptions.
Sarah: First of all ... no I'm not here to talk about a "friend." Secondly, if you speak to me like that again I'm going to rip that fucking tongue out of your mouth. Got it?
Emily jots something down on her notepad. She nods and apologizes for offending Sarah with her remarks. After that tension is eased, Sarah continues as to why she was here.
Sarah: The reason I'm here is because a co-worker of mine has a very unhealthy obsession with me.
Emily's ears perk up. This was certainly different than what she had expected to hear. It wasn't the standard deflection of problems after all.
Sarah: We've worked together on and off for about four years ... and the fucker is just smitten with me for whatever reason.
Emily nods her head as she listens. She offers up a question of her own.
Dr. Stratfield: And you? You don't feel the same way, I gather?
Sarah again narrows her eyes. This time insulted at the insinuation that she would EVER be interested in someone like Polar Phantasm.
Sarah: Fuck no. That pathetic piece of shit can rot in hell for all I care.
Dr. Stratfield: Is there sexual harassment? Unwanted advances?
Sarah shakes her head and was really getting annoyed that this woman kept interrupting her with stupid questions.
Sarah: No, there's none of that shit. Look, I started working for the company back in 2012. Shortly after I got there this guy shows up. He parades around with a chick that maybe, kinda looks somewhat like me ... but definitely not as attractive. I mean she's got the red hair, my eye color ... the whole thing. Then he tries to parade this bitch around like some kind of badass or whatever and she's just ... not. Like he went and found himself some bitch who would pretend to be me for him so he can live out some sick fantasy. I mean, I'm not even quite sure she's human. Knowing this fucker he built himself some Weird Science fembot or something. Like one of those sex dolls, but it talks.
Emily is listening on, very interested at this point. The conversation had barely been going on five minutes and already it was far more interesting than anything any of her patients had ever discussed with her.
Sarah: The problem is ... he thinks he's like fucking James Bond ... and that I'm Xenia Onnatop or Pussy Galore or some shit. He truly believes that he's going to woo me because he thinks he's some irresistible man. I'm telling you this moron has watched Tomorrow Never Dies one too many fucking times.
Emily quirks a brow as she jots down some more notes into her notepad.
Dr. Stratfield: And this man, he targets you as his love interest, why exactly?
Sarah: Because he thinks I'm some Bond villainess who he has to win over by being a seductive, manipulative spy. I don't fucking know! He thinks he's saving the world on a nightly basis. In reality, he's sipping coffee, making a fucking fool of himself with his play pretend bullshit and occasionally sticking his dick into that weird fucking fembot of his while calling out my name.
Emily jots down a few more things and poses yet another question to Sarah.
Dr. Stratfield: How do you know these things? I mean ... what kind of work is it that you do to even have exposure to all of this?
Sarah sighs, as if she just expected this woman to "get" everything she was talking about.
Sarah: I'm a professional wrestler, okay? And him? I don't know what the fuck he is, but he sure as hell isn't a wrestler. He is whatever the hell he envisions himself as during the self induced comas he puts himself into with whatever drugs he has to be on to actually believe any of the shit that comes out of his mouth. I mean this guy probably parades around in a suit and tie with talking wrist watches everytime he drifts off into retard land. He most definitely imagines me at his side, the evil villainess whom he's managed to sway into his ever important, world saving arms. Somewhere in the recesses of that pea brain of his, he's off traveling the world, being daring and dashing and maybe traveling to fucking outerspace fighting Stormtroopers with light sabers. I don't fucking know, and I don't fucking care.
There is by now a MASSIVE amount of note taking being done by Emily who just continues to listen to this fantastic story.
Sarah: Thing is, when he wakes up from that dream of his, and realizes he's not sleeping next to Sarah Twilight but instead is sleeping with Nightmare ... oh yes, he named his little fembot Nightmare. I suppose that "Not Quite Sarah" would have been too obvious. But shit, at least the name is appropriate. It's a reminder to him that reality for him is a nightmare. That he isn't some super agent fending off public enemy number one and being handed the keys to the city. He's not traveling the world sipping martinis and serenading women with his charm. He's not on a top secret mission in which the fate of the world hangs in the balance. He's just some shit stick, who has never and will never amount to anything. He can imagine whatever the fuck he wants from the comfort of mom's basement. None of that matters when he steps into reality ... the reality where I beat the fucking shit out of him.
Emily looks a bit concerned at this point and stops writing down notes. Instead, she addresses the threat of physical violence.
Dr. Stratfield: I highly recommend that you do not engage in any type of violence with this individual. It appears to me that he suffers severe psychotropic hallucinations. He has obviously sunk into a level of delusion far beyond reproach. I cannot condone acts of violence toward an individual like this. I would suggest that he seek psychiatric help immediately.
Sarah: Listen lady ... he and I ... we're going to have a fight, one way or the other. And no matter how many times that he's wished upon a star that I'd end up in his arms with his riding off into the sunset ... it's just not going to happen. Unfortunately for him, the only three seconds of his entire life that I will EVER being laying atop him with my body that close to his, will be during a time when he is completely fucking unconscious! And by the time he wakes up, he will realize that his Spy Kids bullshit was never going to cut it in the ring against someone like me. He will FAIL because in reality, he is just not in my league.
Sarah becomes very passionate about everything she is saying at this point. Every moment she mentions Phantasm t's like a raging fire grows from within her and she cannot wait to extinguish it with her actions.
Sarah: I came here because I find it ridiculous that I even have to talk about this ... with anyone. I am the most successful woman EVER in professional wrestling and this is what I get? A fucking guy who talks to his shitty computer thinking it's going to unlock the codex of the universe for him if he screams Rosebud at it? I find it insulting that his name is listed on the same marquee as mine.
Sarah waves her hands in disgust even thinking about it.
Sarah: You know what? I don't give a shit, let him bring his little iceberg computer, and he can bring "Not Quite Sarah" with him so I can beat this shit out of that fembot bitch too! Put that bitch back in the junkyard heap where his dumbass found her. This ... this is exactly like that fucking mountie from earlier today. Stupid fuck thought he was so much more important than he actually was. Thought he had so much more power than he actually did. This is Polar Phantasm to a fucking tee. He's just a worthless waste of space who has managed to make himself "appear" relevant by hanging around with people far more talented than he will ever be. But it's not going to be that simple for him anymore. He's not just going to be Jonny Fly or Steve Orbit's bitch ... grabbing their coffee. No, he's about to become MY bitch and I'm going to snap every bone in his body.
Emily doesn't ask any question. She just takes notes and pretends like she knows who Jonny Fly or Steve Orbit are. Just by her earlier responses it should be evident that Doctor Stratfield has never watched wrestling before.
Sarah: I'm going to beat that mother fucker so badly that he may just snap out of his Land of Make Believe and realize "Hey, I completely suck, what am I doing here?" And we can only hope that is enough to convince him to go back to wherever the fuck he came from, with his fembot with the new found realization that he doesn't belong in WCF ... and he sure as SHIT doesn't belong inside a ring with Sarah Twilight.
Sarah takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. She pushes her hands into the sinking cushions of the sofa and makes her way up from her seat. Emily finishes up taking a few notes and looks a bit surprised that Sarah had suddenly stopped and had gotten to her feet.
Dr. Stratfield: Sarah, where are you going?
Sarah: Ya know, that was good. I needed that. I feel much better, all that tension just put out there. I guess it's not so bad after all. I mean, I can waste thirty seconds or so to put Phantasm out of his misery. You did a real good job, Doc. I'll recommend you ... or something.
Emily looks rather puzzled as she hadn't exactly done anything. She was however, curious to get to know Sarah a bit more after being given all kinds of information about Polar Phantasm.
Dr. Stratfield: Wait! I think it would be beneficial for us to talk about ... you for a little bit. So that we can better gage the possible consequence of pairing you with someone so mentally unstable.
Sarah had already made it to the door and was about to step out when she turns back to Emily with a mischievous smirk upon her face.
Sarah: Oh me? ... I'm a witch.
She winks with a sinister laugh as she exits the room and closes the door behind her leaving the most confused psychologist in history there to ponder everything she'd just heard. Emily looks stressed out. Spies, witches, talking fembots. Her shoulders sink in defeat.
Dr. Stratfield: I need a drink!
Sunday, April 24th 2016
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
2:17pm
Air Canade Centre
The arena is being set up for WCF's Aftermath pay per view event later in the evening. Fans have not yet begun to make their way inside as the door were closed to the general public for the time being. Only arena and WCF staff were permitted to enter the building this early. Sarah Twilight was here very early for the last few hours of her workout routine as she always was prior to every WCF live event. The Mistress of Mischief has her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail with a purple scrunchie. She is wearing a plain black athletic tank top and a pair of black Nike athletic pants. She has wrist tape wrapped around her and wears a plain black pair of Nike sneakers that were far more worn out than any other pair she wears at any given time. The shoes were broken in, comfortable and perfect for her training regimen. She walks one of the backstage corridors of the arena toward the weight room that was routinely set up by WCF prior to all events for their talent to use before performing. She carries her gym bag at her side which contained her wrestling gear that she would be wearing later in the night in her contest with Polar Phantasm. As she approaches the weight room she is blindsided by an intruding Hank Brown and a cameraman he had convinced to follow him around backstage. It was quite commonplace for Hank to try and squeeze in a last minute interview, especially at a major event like Aftermath. In all likelihood, Hank had been walking these corridors for several hours already in the hopes that he would find a few of the talent to speak with. This intrusion was not a welcome surprise for Sarah who's greeting to Hank is a very volatile one.
Sarah: What the fuck do you want now?
Hank appears dejected with the manner in which Sarah had addressed him. Sometimes he wished he didn't have the job that he did so he wouldn't have to take so much abuse. Nonetheless, Hank soldiers on with the job he was here to perform.
Hank Brown: I just wanted to get any final statements you might like to make in regards to your match later this evening with the Polar Phantasm?
Sarah was already directing her hot temper toward Hank. And his query about Phantasm only added fuel to the fire. She had heard so much talk about Phantasm all damn week that she was completely sick of it all. She grabs the microphone from Hank and shoves him out of the way.
Sarah: You ... look over here, now.
She reaches out her hand and grabs the camera and focuses it in her direction. She makes sure the camerman maintains that focus and does not drift away from the order he was given.
Sarah: You want my thoughts on my match with the Polar Phantasm? You want my fucking thoughts?
Sarah looks directly at the camera, ignoring that Hank was a few feet away from her and almost ignoring the fact that she was, in fact, speaking to a camera.
Sarah: Let me tell you something dipshit. You're not a fucking Power Ranger, you're not some international man of mystery. You're a delusional little boy. Pathetic, and sad ... that's what you are. You better listen good, because I don't give a shit about your code names and your imaginary missions. You can ask your fucking computer, use a magic 8-ball, hold seventy five meetings with the remnants of Pantheon and use some fucking Tarot cards while you're at it. The answer is going to be the same no matter which fucking way you look at it. Sarah Twilight is going to BEAT Polar Phantasm. There is no seal team six, there is no magic mushrooms or hunchback fembots that are going to help you. I am going to kick your ass. I am going to break you and I am going to humble you in front of the entire world and there isn't a DAMN thing that you can do about it. I'm going to bash in your skull, I'm going to rip and tear your flesh, I am going to inflict damage upon you the likes of which you have never fucking SEEN! And with every blow, with every new snap of your bones, with each moment that it becomes harder for you to breathe, and with every second that goes by in which you slip in and out of consciousness ... I want you to remember one thing ... I did this to you. I want you to retain that one bit of information and store it deep in that head of yours. Sarah Twilight beat ths shit out of the Polar Phantasm so badly, so decisively ... that he was forced to go back to calling himself Kid Phantasm. Sarah Twilight decimated you so very fucking badly that you had to start over.
The grin upon Sarah's face and the deep lack of any form of human compassion within her eyes was holding nothing but the pure evil and malice that lurked behind those beautiful eyes. Beneath that facade of beauty, a hideous monster of a human being. A woman with the blackest of hearts and holding no soul, no remorse within any fiber of her being. She snickers lightly, amused by this ... Kid Phantasm.
Sarah: You've had four years to prepare for this ... this is your dream come true, the match you've waited for for the entire duration of your pathetic, flailing career. Well let me tell you something, Kid, you've had those four years of preparation ... and you are STILL not ready for the ass kicking you're going to get tonight!
Sarah abruptly tosses the mic to Hank Brown, who after a bit of fumbling, actually manages to catch hold of it. Sarah shoves the camera out of her face and heads into the weight room.
Fade to black.
