But El Primo didn’t charge. He didn’t leap. Instead, he stood perfectly still.
From somewhere across the dunes, a faint, synthesized beat began to thrum. Dun-dun-dun-dun, dun, dun-dun-dun-dun... The infectious rhythm of filled the arena. El Primo’s shoulders began to bounce. But El Primo didn’t charge
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. From somewhere across the dunes, a faint, synthesized
Colt checked his ammo. One shot left. He stepped out, ready to go down in a blaze of glory. El Primo’s shoulders began to bounce
The desert sun beat down on the Thousand Lakes map. Smoke was closing in, and only two Brawlers remained.
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.