Mecanica

Growing up in [REDACTED] made me a mean kid. Stealing and beating up boys until 12 or so. It wasn’t a far leap to wrestling.

Obviously the mask to protect those still connected to my old identity, but also from my childhood obsession with Santos. Turned out to be great marketing. Hopefully the ideas behind it will outlive me.

I stole the name from an old comic book called Mechanix. It's about a female adventurer who used to be a wrestler. Haven't read since I was six, but the name stuck.

Nice try, but Mecañica has been my only identity for years. May the lovely and talented [REDACTED] rest in power.

I miss the fans, I miss the camaraderie with amazing women, but don't miss all-day training, money hassles, or sleazy managers. I love watching today's fighting females, though. They're way better athletes than my generation's. They're funnier, better at building fan bases, and so much smarter about the business. Some are fantastic entertainers!

[Laughs] Maybe I do miss the action after all! But you're only young once.

Not seriously til the [REDACTED] loss. [REDACTED] years of injuries were beginning to pile up. Plus a lot of my fans wanted me to use my fame to combat real issues. Femicinida... wife beating, abductions, girl trafficking. That's when I started thinking, "What can a wrestler do about real problems?"

Studying the lives of older badass females helped shape my direction. Here are just a few:

Public protests, interviews, social media. Old women, kids and young radicals started using my mask design as a symbol of rebellion. But local government and organized crime were practically married in [REDACTED]. I was ambushed, shot, beaten, thrown off a cliff and left for dead.

Memory's a little rattled, but I woke up at a Las Navajeras hideout. They spent months nursing me to health with their combination of mystical potions and heavy pharmaceuticals. It's all the same to them.

An old woman called the Seniorita smuggled me to a weatlhy planet. I was [REDACTED]-year-old illegal, didn't know the language, working as a baby sitter and housecleaner.

Quite the opposite. Felt like I was dying, especially when a femicidal Wahakka story made the news. Couldn't stop thinking, "How many others are like me, but didn't make it?" Inspired by the legend of Santos, I adapted my wrestling training to actual crime fighting at nights. The Honor Blackman book led me to pick up karate, kung-fu, muay thai, and pencak silat.

[Loud laughter] Bruce Wayne on a babysitter's budget! To this day I only wear what the locals give me, which explains how my outfits get torn off all the time! Extra incentive to stay in shape!

Honey, I've been fighting men twice my size for damn near a decade. Any time I dish out more than I take is a good night. It's part of what makes me an intergalactic sex symbol.

Not a problem anymore. For anyone.

Years of doing everything myself—investigating, negotiating, busting heads—barely made a dent in improving girl's lives. The Gulabi Gang showed me what could happen if disparate groups started working together. Las Navajeras and the church ladies are always at each other's throats, but so far the alliance is working.

She'd hate turning out like this; heavier, slower, working with sworn enemies for some distant "greater good." I'd try getting her to see the bigger picture, but young people never want advice until they get hurt. Whatever. I'm happy to see those who grow and outlive their mistakes, and heartbroken by those who don't.

[Touching her hidden earpiece] --Hold that thought. That wife beating thief I caught last night just busted out of jail. Goddamn it, Sharky! Cops shot out his flight engines, so I should be able to catch him before he reaches the border! And when I do...!