Sweat poured down Nakhett's brow, matting her already soaked hair to her forehead like a magnet. Luchador masks were fun and colorful, but damn if they weren't hot in the middle of a match! She forced herself to breathe steadily through the mouth hole of her false visage, though she desperately longed to gulp down air. Her muscles were screaming, exposed arms and legs gleaming under a sheen of perspiration highlighted by the blinding spotlights aimed at the ring. She wouldn't have it any other way.

The new arrival to Destiny City could hardly remember how she'd come to love lucha libre, but it was a great way to burn off stress, stay fit, and fight hulking guys nearly twice her size. Not in height, as Nakhett herself was rather tall, but she couldn't compare to the men whose pecs looked like barrels straining to burst their bands under the thinnest spaghetti strap tank tops she'd ever seen. Get caught and it was basically over. A squeeze from those meatheads could pop her like bubble wrap. The female wrestler's counters were her agility and speed.

Despite her height, Nakhett was quicker than nearly anyone she met with reflexes to match. It served her well as a surfing instructor, but in the ring it meant the difference between victory or hitting the deck under a stinking brick of a man. She preferred the former, especially considering her opponent tonight was rather brutish even by wrestling standards. Across the ring crouched her opponent: El Bigote Grasiento. Clad only in red strapped boots, white luchador tights and his black mask, the most impressive thing about him was the frankly ridiculous handlebar mustache curling from custom slits in the veil. You'd think such a thing would be a massive handicap in freestyle wrestling, but it didn't seem to bother El Bigote.

Time and again Nakhett had slipped under his bear-like grappling charges, only to find herself failing to retaliate in any appreciable manner. The combination of a pot belly, an outrageous amount of wiry chest hair and a grease-like sweaty coating made it almost impossible to land a counterattack or grab. No wonder this guy had been flattening all of his opposition. The redhead quickly dropped into a forward slide under yet another freight train rush, narrowly avoiding grabby fingers each as big around as a stuffed bratwurst.

"Gross," Nakhett murmured, rolling nimbly to her feet as El Bigote rounded for another pass.

She'd considered just going for straight punches and kicks, but with how solidly the pudgy man was built she was afraid she'd hurt herself more than him. It'd likely be akin to punting a fleshy wall. That was it then. Improvisation. If it worked out it worked out.

When Bigote charged forward again, Nakhett did the same. Quickly building speed, she dove forward with hands outstretched. Astoundingly, her fingers managed to find grip around the tantalizing targets her foe's mustache offered... and it felt just like she'd imagined it would. Greasy and abrasive. Bringing her knees to her chest as her momentum carried her onward, she impacted into Bigote's stomach as he reeled upward in surprise. Suitably stopped, the wily woman dropped and brought her legs swinging forward through the other combatant's wide stance. In effect, El Bigote Grasiento had become El Monkey Bar.

Now right behind the sweaty block, Nakhett leapt and locked her legs around the back of Bigote's neck. A quick twist of her core with all of her strength brought the man to his hands and knees, tangled in the female's hold. He strained mightily, but Nakhett held tight. One final pull dropped his shoulders to the mat.

"Uno... dos... TRES!" cried the announcer as the crowd erupted into wild cheers."La Rana Desconocida has finally stopped El Bigote Grasiento's runaway string of victories!"

Nakhett released her hold, thudding to the ring floor herself in exhaustion while wincing. She still hadn't come up with an official name for her wrestling persona, so the officials had come to call her "The Unknown Frog" for her agile antics. It was dorky and unfitting, but as she couldn't offer anything better that's who she was.

"You will pay for this insult, La Rana," El Bigote snarled in a heavily-accented growl from a few feet away, rising to show that her trick with his mustache had left the fabulous face fur kinked and drooping. "You. Will. Pay."

He stomped off the ring without another word, leaving Nakhett to collect her winnings and make for the locker room. She didn't pay much mind to post-victory threats like her most recent conquered foe's, so she was in rather high spirits as she made her way into the quiet back lanes and lots behind the hidden lucha libre rink. The sport itself wasn't so much illegal, but the betting was. And the officiation was a tad suspect. It was better for everyone involved that the whole thing stayed underground and out of the eye of Johnny Law.

What she came across next made her reconsider her dismissal of El Bigote's threat slightly: two men in dark suits were threatening a third more normal-looking guy. It was almost straight out of a mafia movie. While having no weaponry herself, Nakhett thought she could at least provide a distraction during which the victim could make a break for it. After all, he looked so pale that he might faint. One of the suits was making a weird probing motion at the poor sap's chest, most likely looking for valuables.

"Hey!" Nakhett called loudly, dropping her gym bag. "At least take him out to dinner before you start getting handsy!"

The call had the desired effect: both men jerked and turned simultaneously to coldly regard their voyeur.

"Take her," the lighter-haired man scoffed, turning his attention back to his original prey.

The other turned fully, just as Nakhett made to pull her cell from her jeans pocket. If nothing else she could call the cops and toss it to bring them in from the sounds of an altercation. Her hand barely made it to her pocket before her opponent had already halved the nearly fifty feet between them. She almost hadn't seen him move.

"What the-"

(Continued in Part II!)