The arena buzzes with life, the audible murmur of fans preparing for the show. A thousand conversations meld into one jumble of sound.

In the ring, one such conversation stands at the centre of this mass. The conversation between Sweet Caroline and Maiden America, the two wrestlers preparing for their impending match. Caroline, dressed in her traditional pink bikini and matching pink boots, looks the sweet thing she purports to be. The �girl next door�, tall and blond, lets her guileless looks speak for themselves. Her conversation partner is the equally lovely and spirited Maiden America. The national favorite sports an �American Flag� bikini, adorned with the stars and stripes, finishing her outfit with some star spangled blue boots. Also blond, yet shorter than her ring partner, she is still an athlete in her prime.

They discuss the best plan of attack for their pressing opponent. Yes, only a single opponent. Akira Hagawa, seemingly desirous of demonstrating her mastery of the craft following a water skiing accident, has elected to face two FAWN wrestlers in one match. They know the numbers are in their favor, but Akira is no pushover and they should take nothing for granted.

To the sounds of �Kill Your Idols� by Sonic Youth, Akira Hagawa appears from the chute and makes her way towards the ring. There is a little confusion, not just demonstrated on the faces of her erstwhile opponents but also on the face of the collective fans. Akira is not dressed for combat.

Rather, she wears a cashmere turtleneck sweater and black skirt. Her shapely and trimmed legs, covered in black stockings, move swiftly and gracefully across the arena floor. Her feet, clad in a pair of plain black Gucci pumps, carry the weight of the most athletically tuned and intellectually perfect wrestler of all time. Still a sight, the many time former World Champion regards the arena�s denizens with just a hint of disgust.

Arriving at the ring, Akira climbs the steel steps and steps gingerly through the top and middle rope. She walks slowly, confidently, to the centre of the ring and casts a wary yet disdainful eye on her would-be foes. The youngsters, caught by the gaze of the former Queen of the Ring, can do nothing but stand by, hoping for some explanation. As Akira takes the microphone from the ring attendant, it is clear the explanation will be forthcoming.

She awaits the hush of the fans, a hush she commands with her eyes. Finally, when she is suitably pleased with the level of silence, she begins to speak.

�My dearest fans��

The reply is a chorus of boos and hisses. She has never been a fan favorite.

�I fear today is a day all of you have dreaded for some time. A day we all knew would sometime come, yet had hoped would never occur. Today is a sad day not just for myself but for the entire sport of Professional Wrestling.�

The fans murmur as Akira feigns emotion.

�Due to my recent injury while water skiing in San Lucia, my doctors have informed me that it would no longer be of my best interest to continue my career as a professional grappler.�

The crowd cheers, genuinely pleased this arrogant woman is finally going away for good.

�Thus, having accomplished everything I had set out to during the course of my illustrious and highly respected career, I have elected to announce my retirement forthwith from the sport�effective immediately.�

The crowd cheers even louder. Bing bong, the witch is dead.

�I know�you cheer for my greatness. I know you will be distraught to know that I shall never again perform my magic for you, my fans. It hurts me to deny you my particular gift, yet I must think of my own health. I hope you will all understand and forgive me this breach of your confidence.�

The fans cheer even more. They can�t wait for her to go.

�Ah, but there is�one�accolade I have never been able to achieve in this sport. It is my desire to manage a wrestler to a world championship. It is my desire to share my knowledge and skill with another. It is my earnest wish to transition from Queen to Queen Maker.�

Akira turns her eyes to Sweet Caroline and Maiden America.

�Which brings me to the pair of you.�

The pair readies themselves for whatever devilish plan Akira has set in motion.

�Did you think I had forgotten about you? Hmmm. Did you assume you were to be spared the beating you no doubt had prepared yourselves for? Eh? Speak up, you coupling of pungent ignoramus!�

The two youngsters say nothing. They just prepare for a fight.

�Well, let me assure the both of you that your punishment this evening is all but certain. Why, I would never allow a pair of ill mannered, poorly bred, foul mouthed ragamuffins such as yourselves to walk from a ring I have graced. No, you shall both soon find yourselves red and bruised, laying prostrate in whatever dumpster you crawled out of, cursing your mothers for pushing you from the birth canal. Of this, I can promise.�

Caroline and the Maiden shake their heads, point to Akira and throw up their hands. �Yet you may take solace in the fact that your beatings shall serve a higher purpose. For though you shall receive the hidings of your young lives, your pain shall not be in vain. You shall serve as the messengers of a greater statement than two pea-brained imbeciles such as yourselves can ever hope to comprehend. You shall be made an example of, the exemplification being of the fate of those who would fly in the face of my latest desire. In short, you shall be beaten in effigy. And the effigy you represent shall be Kylie Sanders�and Lindsay Locke.�

The crowd cheers at the mention of their two favorites.

�For Lindsay Locke, though you speak of escaping your demons, there is one demon you can never escape. Yes, Lindsay Locke, there is one specter of your former life you will never banish from your conscience. There is one devil that will always torment you. And by aligning yourself with your current master, Kylie Sanders, you subject yourself to the hate of that same demon. For both of you are now damned. Damned to a hell of your own creation, Lindsay Locke, damned to a torment of your own desire, Kylie Sanders. Damned to the fires of your own design. Damned to the fate of these two jackabouts who now stand before me. Damned to the fires of Hell. Damned to the wrath and rage of my erstwhile sister and newest prot�g�, damned to the hatred of the Dark Angel!�

The last thing you see before the light go down is the look of abject terror on the faces of Caroline and the Maiden.

The voice of Christopher Lambert in the classic film �The Highlander� echoes through the darkened arena.

�There can be�only one!�

Any long time fan of the sport knows immediately what that means. It hastens the arrival of the woman known as the dark angel, the devil incarnate, the monster called Janus.

The opening strains of �The Bitter End� by Placebo coincide with an explosion of white pyrotechnics. As the lights come back up, a lone figure stands in the centre of the ring. Dressed in old blue jeans and a hooded black sweatshirt, the hood pulled up to obscure to the face, head dipped. On her feet are black combat boots, steel toe�d. The crowd greets the return of Janus with mixed emotion. The one time idol of millions, beloved of the fans, seems to have changed. No longer Heaven�s Dark Angel, it would seem she has once again taken her place as Hell�s champion.

Two hands, one pristine and pearly white the other a mat of scarred and folded flesh, reaches up and takes hold of either side of the hood. Slowly, methodically, she peels it back revealing the head of the woman once known as BRA�s Fallen Angel champion. The woman who has ended more careers than knee injury, the woman who nearly killed Leslie Magnus and Brandy Lynn. Old �two face� herself.

Under jet black hair, one side of her face as porcelain and perfect as a China doll, the other scarred and burnt, the only symmetry on her visage two blue eyes. At 5�11� and pushing the scales at almost 175 pounds of pure muscle and bone, the relic of a harder edged era of feds like BRA regards the sweet one and America�s beauty. Outside the ring Akira extols her prodigal sister, ordering an attack on the two hapless youngsters.

Maiden America tries desperately to hide her fear, repeating to herself over and over again �Cowboy up! She�s just a woman! Flesh and blood! Cowboy up!� But this devil is more than flesh and blood. She�s evil, through and through.

Caroline is less circumspect about her fear. She knows who Janus is, knows what she can and has done. She�s seen it first hand in places like the IFWF. This woman is capable of crippling or killing on a whim. And though it�s probably the biggest �no-no� in the sport, Caroline can�t help but let her fear manifest itself in a look that says: �I�m going to piss myself.�

Luckily for the sweetie, Janus doesn�t wait for her to manifest her fear in an embarrassing stream of urine. Instead the dark creature slams a meaty left hand into Caroline�s unsuspecting jaw. The thwack of flesh on charred flesh and the cracking of bone heralds Caroline�s fall to the mat, dropping as though shot by an unseen sniper. As soon as her lithe body hits the mat, hand firmly pressed against her reddened jaw, she is met with the steel toes of the devil�s boots. Stomping, kicking, stamping her boot print on Caroline�s perky body, Janus can�t be stopped. Even the double axe handle smashes of the sprightly Maiden against the monster�s back seemingly have little to no effect.

With Caroline thoroughly beaten, now little more than a mess of sobs and sighs, Janus turns her attention to Maiden. The all American backs off at the sight of the wild look in Janus� eyes. Instinctively, Maiden America cowers and begs off. �Don�t hurt me!�

The Dark Angle pays no heed to Maiden�s pleas. Instead she slams one sweatshirted elbow into the youngster�s upper head. Maiden responds by stumbling back, seemingly for a soft spot to land. But the creature grasps the Maiden�s arm with her left hand and holds her firmly while she crashes another pair of elbows to the young blonde�s forehead. When she finally releases the American youngster, Maiden has a small cut just below her hairline. She falls limply to the mat, face down, her left leg twitching and kicking every few seconds.

Janus grabs a handful of Caroline�s blond locks and yanks the beleaguered girl off the mat. Caroline�s beaten body dutifully responds, any hint of resistance beaten out of her. Janus places the sweet one in a side headlock and parades her around the ring, finally stopping by the ropes. As the camera zooms in on Janus and the glassy eyed and helpless Caroline, Janus uses her free hand to slap Caroline�s face as she mouths �Lindsay� for the camera. Finally she sticks two of the charred fingers on her left hand into Caroline�s nose and starts to yank, seemingly trying to rip the poor girl�s nose off. Caroline whelps and screams like a baby before Janus ends her assault. She whips Caroline to the ropes and delivers a devastating clothesline as the tall athlete is hurled back towards her. Caroline�s forward momentum, against the force of Janus� power, causes the sweet one to turn 180 degrees in mid air and land face down on the mat with a sickening thud. She kicks and flails on the mat, hands pressed against her face. Caroline flips over to her back and kicks her legs up and down, her hands covering her now bleeding face.

Janus spies Maiden, slowly trying to get to her feet. She �helps� the young girl up and rakes four fingers across the girl�s eyes. Maiden stumbles around the ring blindly, bumping up against Janus. The tall Janus sends a boot to the shorter Maiden�s midsection, doubling America over. Positioning the youngster with her head wedged between Janus� own thighs, she pile drives Maiden American to the mat. America lays face up, spread eagle and motionless on the mat.

The Dark Angel slowly walks to the still down Caroline and pulls the blond up off the mat. She places Caroline in a similar �head between the thighs� position and delivers the devastating Faces of Pain (Janus� pedigree style maneuver.) Caroline lays flat on her face, motionless and as helpless as Maiden America. Both of the blond youngsters bleed from the head, eyes glazed and glassy. The only life left in the ring is in Janus.

Janus hefts Caroline up one more time. This time it�s just to power bomb the poor girl on top of the lifeless form of Maiden America. On top of this heap of humanity, Janus places a boot on Caroline�s chest and gets an academic double three count on the pair.

Janus removes her foot and spits on the heap as the referee holds her hand aloft.