Рўрєр°с‡р°с‚сњ Р¤сѓс‚р°р¶ Рр»сњ Рџсђрёрјрѕ С‚р°рѕс†сѓрµс‚ Рїрѕрґ Austronomia... Direct
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 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 lowered his guns, mesmerized
But El Primo didn’t charge. He didn’t leap. Instead, he stood perfectly still. Colt lowered his guns