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.
Colt took cover behind a cactus, his fingers twitching over his revolvers. Across the clearing, he saw him: . The massive wrestler was at full health, his purple cape fluttering in the wind, his fists glowing with the energy of a ready Super. From somewhere across the dunes, a faint, synthesized
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. El Primo’s shoulders began to bounce
He didn't attack. He started to shuffle. With a grace that defied his massive frame, he began the iconic dance. He crossed his arms, stepping side-to-side in perfect synchronization with the beat. He was no longer a threat; he was a performer. The massive wrestler was at full health, his
Colt checked his ammo. One shot left. He stepped out, ready to go down in a blaze of glory.
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.
The desert sun beat down on the Thousand Lakes map. Smoke was closing in, and only two Brawlers remained.