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.
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. El Primo spun, his mask gleaming
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. El Primo spun
Colt checked his ammo. One shot left. He stepped out, ready to go down in a blaze of glory. synthesized beat began to thrum. Dun-dun-dun-dun
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