After being forced to flee Texas due several counts of arson, and one mishap with The Texas Debutante Finishing School, she quad-skated across Texas and headed toward the Windy City. Amid lonely freeways, in sweltering heat, she felt a terrible sadness in her heart for the countless numbers of armadillos scattered across the Texas freeways.

At midnight, on Highway I-45, some stupid jerk in a tattered pick-up truck swerved directly into the path of one of the critters, smashed the poor thing flat. She didn't know if it was his blatant disregard for life, or the gravel his truck flung at her skates that ticked her off the most. Either way, it didn't matter. She saw the flames start burning in her brain; it was like the devil himself took her over. She pulled a revolver from her thigh strap and shot his tire out faster than you can say "Yee-haw." The driver swerved off the side of the road and stoppped. She blew the smoke away from her piece. The driver in the truck just sat there frozen with fear by the "crazy look" in her eyes. She wrote the word "Road Kill" on his windshield in red lipstick as she passed. He picked the wrong day and the wrong girl. She threw back a shot of Crown Royal from her flask . . . he should have stayed out of HARM'S way.

In the darkness, she saw a small dillo bound toward it's flattened mother. She placed the baby armadillo in her knapsack, looked up at those big Texas stars and swore that once she made it to Chicago, she would right the wrongs of inconsiderate people-vermin (especially those who purposely killed armadillos) and would use her keen judgment, southern justice and roller derby skills to take it out not only on unsuspecting careless jerks on the highway, but also on those in the rink . . . because at this point, with all that she had done in her short life, she already knew she was gonna burn in hell. Fitting that in Chicago, on country night at the Horseshoe, she skated into Varla Vendetta and Athena DeCrime, signed her soul over to the Devil, and another Hell’s Belle was born . . .