Heavy orchestral chords flow over the darkened arena. A white-hot pin spot breaks the darkness and falls upon fortune's favorite. As Shirley Manson's distinctive voice surges from all corners of the arena, golden spotlights join the cavalcade spinning through the crowd in wide figure-8s. Portia Ophelia VanBuren tosses her shoulder-length mane of strawberry blonde locks and struts down the aisle to the strains of 'The World Is Not Enough' by Garbage, hips swaying as she turns the trip into a sashay down the runways of Paris or Milan. White lace panties flash in a Maxim-like version of Morse code from beneath a tennis skirt sufficiently high as to be outlawed by the WTA. Above, her white lace tank top is sheer enough to be eye-catching on a Monaco beachfront, the ensemble tastefully accessorized with Gucci shades and a diamond tennis bracelet around her left wrist.

Portia, patrician features held high, barely glances to either side as she makes her way to the ring, doing her best to ignore the throngs of human cattle that rush the restraining barriers with a cascade of boos. One FAWN fanatic pushes close, shoving a sign in VanBuren's face. "Portia is Road kill." The sign gets a little too close and Portia snatches it from the hands of its owner, ripping it half. Baby VanBuren just shakes her head, a smirk gracing her flawless face. Farther down the aisle, her face screws into a mask of anger. The same nattily attired stockbroker-type that had plagued her recent appearances is back again, giving her a playful wink, before opening his briefcase and holding aloft a poster board with the script 'Portia is a Paris wannabe'. Below is a blown up shot of "Paris Hilton" pinning Portia to the mat. Only this Paris wears a suspiciously familiar dark blue sports bra with a Union Jack emblazoned across the perky cleavage. The strawberry blonde rages at the photo manipulation, her face blushing beet red. She lets the beefcake know what she thinks in fairly unflattering terms and moves on, still clearly in a huff.

Finishing her trip down the runway, Portia appears relieved to arrive ringside, distance restored between her and the unruly crowd. The slender socialite ascends the ring steps and slides into the squared circle between the ropes, skirt riding up the scant inches that were available.

Immediately, the ring is Portia's personal property. She saunters to each corner, raising her hands high at each to a chorus of boos. All eyes drawn to her, Portia was in her element, the center of attention and envy. She waits mid-ring, having reestablished an air of confidence that bordered on supremacy. She was back, and the PPV debacle against London would soon be shown to be a fluke.

"Flash" by the Stereo MCs comes over the arena's speakers, the crowd's attention turning from the ring back toward the ramp. A few moments later, Janneke Kaiser steps out onto the ramp, clad in an ice blue one piece that leaves her midriff uncovered, a single strap running over her right shoulder. The ensemble is capped off by white knee and elbow pads, and ice blue boots.

As she heads down to the ring, her expression of completely inscrutable. Several fans reach the hands out along the aisle, some brushing against the blonde Amazon, most missing, but none gaining the slightest sliver of acknowledgement. Janneke's eyes remain fixed on the ring, and on Samantha Page within. Reaching the ring, she climbs the stairs impassively, slipping through the ropes before rising to her full 6'1", 177 imposing pound height.

Portia circled what was, in her view, another in a long line of blondes she'd chew up and spit out. Janneke's watchful eyes tracked this most dangerous of opponents. After a few seconds, Portia's smirk twisted into a snarl and she struck. The two-time former champ lunged, surging into the towering blonde.

She forced Janneke to take half a step back, but that was all. The towering powerhouse quickly regained her bearings... if they had slipped for even a second, and threw Portia backward, sending the socialite skidding gracelessly into the corner on her ass. She stalked her prey with the same oddly impassive look on her face that she used for deciding between breakfast cereals. Her foot flew up into Portia's stomach with a dull thud.

"G'OH!" cried the strawberry blonde. Almost unconsciously, Portia scrambled to her feet. She instinctively ducked an incoming clothesline, Janneke's sculpted arm whistling an inch over her head like a sinewy scythe. Portia fired a knee into Janneke's flat, toned tummy, earning a grunt from the juggernaut. She landed a knee to the Austrian's face, and she took a second to savor that one. The smacking sound was accompanied by another pained grunt as Janneke spun drunkenly. Portia had nailed that one, but good, swiveling her hip into the knee lift to do maximum damage. Showing flashes of her dominating former self, Portia grabbed Kaiser's head and executed a textbook spinning neck breaker that sent the giant to the canvas.

Janneke immediately began climbing back to her feet. The smiling Portia peppered her with kicks and punches, doing little to slow her ascent. The strawberry blonde smiled anyway, happy to be back in her element. Her skirt flapped happily as another kick found its mark.

Portia's smile shattered as Janneke whipped her leg into her injured knee. The smaller girl collapsed to the canvas, teeth bared in pain. Janneke, having quickly turned the tables, dropped an elbow into the injured knee, earning a pained yelp. The towering blonde, more Irena than Irena could ever manage, jerked Portia to her feet with a ton of power and bad intention, but not an ounce of bravado. Portia flew into the ropes, rebounding back toward Janneke. The real Ice Maiden scooped Fortune's Favorite up and plastered her to the canvas with a devastating power slam, rattling Portia's bones, scrambling her brain, and shaking the ring.

The former Queen of FAWN lay on her back, modest bosom heaving. The three move blitzkrieg from her most recent Austrian acquaintance had left her suddenly shaken. Janneke imparted some clarity to the glassy-eyed heiress with a step over toe hold, bending her not-quite fully rehabilitated knee at an angle that would make her orthopedic surgeon puke. Portia was torn from her slumber, her screaming joining that from her knee ligaments. The big Austrian's technique was flawless, and she used every inch of her 6'1" frame to apply leverage to Portia's knee.

Sweat now adorning her chest and brow, Portia grunted in pain, looking for an opening. She raked her talons down the Amazonian blonde's back, but gained no advantage. Another wave of nausea tore through her as Janneke again twisted her knee. Her release was purchased not by some defeat-defying, retina-detaching Van Buren counter, but by Janneke's decision to abandon her attack in favor of something a bit more compelling. She hauled Portia up, the fiery heiress scratching and clawing at her along the way. A punch to Janneke's tummy did nothing to faze her. She winced as Portia raked the products of her latest $1,500 manicure across her eyes. Grabbing Portia by her ankle, she lifted the slender hellion up and dropped her shin across her (Janneke's) knee. All of her 118 pounds, multiplied by the three for the G-Force from the sudden stop of her descent, piled onto Portia's tortured joint.

Once again, Portia surrendered a shriek. Janneke released her and Portia hopped about on her good leg, teeth clenched in rage and agony. Through sheer force of will, Portia refused to collapse to the canvas.

Nothing like a choke slam from a chiseled Arian to exorcise a little stubborn streak. Portia reflexively sat up, apparently powered by spasm. Her arms waved, fingers clawing at the air for purchase that wasn't there. Then, she collapsed onto her back.

There was no respite.

Janneke hauled Portia up, ignoring another manic attempt at an eye rake from the banged up former badass. She threw Portia into the corner. Portia's knee still conspired against her, choosing to hold up just long enough to carry her crashing into a whiplash-inducing stop.

Then it buckled.

She slumped onto her ass, catching one of Janneke's perfectly healthy knees high on her cheek.

Pain, as unexpected as it was unpleasant, blossomed in Janneke's crotch as Portia somehow found the clarity and the power to launch a FAWN-special. The big blonde groaned, but didn't fold. She merely hoisted Portia up, grabbing a rich handful of tennis skirt. As the not-in-compliance-with-WTA-standards skirt was pulled up, the crowd cheered, treated to an eyeful of Portia's tiny, toned ass cheeks as they framed a wedgie of epic proportions.

Portia had other things on her mind, so the humiliation from the wedgie would have to wait until a photo of it found itself on a poster to be jammed in her face as she made entrance to her next match. She was pulled to vertical, then slammed to horizontal, the loud thud of her back smashing into the canvas accented by sharp clack of her teeth. Janneke took a second, looking down at Portia... not to gloat, but to appraise. Portia's skirt was up around hips. Her chest heaved. And her eyes were glassy. But beyond the glassy opaqueness, Janneke still saw the fire blazing.

The big blonde didn't know where Portia's limit was. She didn't know when she'd pusher beyond that limit. But she knew she wasn't there yet.

Portia's will was her greatest asset. Now, however, it was her most worrisome liability. The same blazing desire that had reduced Shea London, Jeanette Lansdale, Midori Tanaka, and Abby Hoffman to smoking piles of ash was threatening to consume her. She refused to yield. And her inability to accept a hopeless situation drove her to wade deeper into the furnace, forcing Janneke to continue to unload. The strawberry blonde fought to a standing position, knock-kneed, rubber legged, with nostrils flaring and teeth clenched.

Janneke grabbed Portia's hobbled leg, only to suffer a sharp kick from the other. Portia's foot struck the powerful blonde right below the belly button, backing her up, if not doubling her over. Janneke, however, waded back in, this time intercepting her incoming foot and grabbing the other. With one of Portia's feet in each hand, Janneke wasted no time driving her foot down into her abdomen with brutal force.

"EEP!" squealed Portia. The Austrian blonde dropped Portia's good leg and twisted her bad one around, entwining her own legs with Portia's in a figure four leg lock.

"ARGHHH!!!" Portia wailed. "OHHHHHH!"

The crowd cheered the spectacle, though the place wasn't exactly rocking. In most of her matches, Portia found herself at a distinct size disadvantage. Even against Malenakova or Lansdale, however, she never looked small. Tonight, though, she did. And, trapped in Janneke's figure four, she appeared to be shrinking. Her wailing gradually weakened, becoming short, guttural moans. Still, she refused to submit.

Janneke, however, thought the damage was done. She released the excruciating hold, allowing Van Buren to curl into the fetal position, cradling her wounded knee. Without effort, Janneke lifted Portia to her feet... or foot, as Portia was unable to put any weight on her bad leg. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Portia's midsection and squeezed, lifting the overmatched woman off her feet.

She shook Portia from side to side, the former champion's body now flopping limply. Baby's eyes rolled back in her head. Her hands, trembling now, reached up, grasping for Janneke's neck.

"Ich toete Sie, wenn ich muß," Janneke said.

I'll kill you if I must.

Portia, whether she was in any condition to consciously grasp Janneke's words or not, let her arms fall away from Janneke's throat. The blonde released the bear hug, immediately entwining Portia's limp husk in a side headlock, while, with her free hand, wrapping Portia's arm into a hammerlock. She then hauled Portia's body up and executed a sit out Bubbah bomb, completing her Kaiser Lock finisher. Portia's last sign of life was a twitch of her left leg.

With a look of boredom, Janneke grabbed Portia's ankles and folded in half with a matchbook pin, Portia's delectable ass cheeks once again exposed to the impressed crowd.

ONE

TWO

THREE

The bell tolled, the halcyon days of Portia's dominance now a distant memory. Janneke rose, letting Baby's sexily toned legs thud to the canvas.

Portia VanBuren lie motionless in the ring, easily bested by the impressive blonde.

WINNER: Janneke Kaiser