The smell of the bar pulses through by nose as I entered. It was the typical seedy Lucha joint, rabid fans and broken fighters crowed in the center of the ring. I clearly looked like the best fighter here, was all the other fighters were either past their time, green as grass, or overweight wannabes. I started to push my way through the small crowd of people, before being stopped by a hand grabbing my shoulder. I spun around to face a leaner, older man. He wore an old faded suit that, at one point, might have cost a pretty penny. As a matter of fact, old and faded seemed to be this guys whole vibe. His suit, his hair, and even that look in his eye all seemed to have one been blessed by youth, but have since been stolen by time.

"Oye, Hijo." he rasped, his voice plagued by years cigarettes and cheap booze.

I shrugged his shriveled hand of my shoulder and once again attempted to move towards the ring.

"If you're asking for beer money, I'm the wrong man for that, Viejo." I replied coldly.

A gravely laugh came from the man as, one again, he grabs my shoulder gripping it tightly.

"You're here to beg for a match, are you not?"

I slap his arm off of my shoulder.

"That ain't any of your business, now, vete a tomar por culo, viejo."

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A hush fell across the arena as I said that, the only sounds still remaining being the two luchadors fighting, and that same raspy laugh of the old man.

"You must be new here, mijo, so maybe I should introduce myself."

Upon him saying that, I was suddenly shoved to the ground. As I tried to lift myself up, I felt the old man's cane slam into my hand, making me cry out in pain.

"My name is Senior Rodrigo, and I run this bar."

"Pleased to meet you, Senior." I spit sarcastically through the pain of my crushed hand.

"And you, mijo...I know you...you are some punk who think he is owed a match just because he bears the mask of some washed out ingrate like Mano Azul."

"Take that name out of your filthy mouth, maldito bastardo."

Once again, Rodrigo laughs, before slamming his cane into my hand once more. I stifled a cry.

"If you think I will let some wannabe molero disrespect me as such, you are wrong."

Rodrigo raises his voice addressing the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen...a new match has been added to the card tonight..."

The crowd began to rile up as he spoke.

"We all know that El Prueba has been feeling a bit...lonesome these past few weeks..."

At this, the crowd erupted, with chants of 'Prueba' and 'Campeón' echoing through the bar.

"And it seems like this poor, starving molero is looking for trouble..."

Those cheers turned into boos at the mention of me.

"So for the main event this evening, it will be El Prueba vs... El Molero!"

"My name...is not...Moler-"

My protest was silenced by a swift rap of the knuckles from Rodrigo's cane.

"Get him up." He demanded over the roar of the crowd.

And with that, I was dragged to the back.

And with that, my career began.