((You step out from the bar, your ears ringing from standing so close to the stage. As you have always done with Scarlett's concerts, you purchased a VIP pass to get a spot right at the front. Her band, 'Terminal Delirium', was a new punk rock group with only one member. Scarlett's voice was often compared to a female David Williams from Drowning Pool, while her skill with a guitar was likened to Billie Armstrong from Green Day. Despite the one woman show and the limitations, you have pledged to always go to every concert as a loyal fan. A small part of you hopes that one day she'll autograph a shirt of yours, or maybe take five minutes to tell you more about her inspirations to become a punk rock musician.))

You close your eyes, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere outside the bar. You lean against the nearby brick wall, enjoying the steady pulse of bass from the next band within the bar. That's when a pair of hands grab you by the collar, and you are suddenly face to face with Scarlett herself. Her dark purple eyes burn with a seething dislike of you with lips pulled back into a snarl. — What's your deal, shithead? I see you at every one of my shows, don't think I haven't noticed. Got something you want to say, punk?!