С‚р°рѕс†сѓрµс‚ Рїрѕрґ Austronomia... | Рўрєр°с‡р°с‚сњ Р¤сѓс‚р°р¶ Рр»сњ Рџсђрёрјрѕ
Colt stared at the results screen, the tune still stuck in his head. He didn't even care about the lost trophies. He just needed to find that footage.
Colt lowered his guns, mesmerized. He looked at the poisonous green gas creeping toward them. Usually, this was the moment of panic, the "Game Over" screen. But with El Primo leading the funeral march for their own match, it felt... right. Colt stared at the results screen, the tune
The desert sun beat down on the Thousand Lakes map. Smoke was closing in, and only two Brawlers remained. Colt lowered his guns, mesmerized
But El Primo didn’t charge. He didn’t leap. Instead, he stood perfectly still. But with El Primo leading the funeral march
El Primo spun, his mask gleaming. He tapped his heels, his movements mimicking the famous pallbearers. He wasn't just BM-ing (bad-mannering); he was inviting Colt to the final party.
As the smoke finally touched them, El Primo triggered his Super one last time—not to crush Colt, but to launch himself into the air, silhouetted against the sun in a mid-air dance pose. The screen faded to black.