Brosaka Finale

Less gambles.

More guarantees.

I'm not gonna say I'm gonna go out and win Manhunt…

I sure as Hell ain't gonna sit back and watch it go down without me though, bro.

How do I beat XXX fuckers who love to throw fists as much as I do?

I find a cause, dog.

I'm sure some of these salad-eaters are gonna find a way out their Justice Knuckles the same way these politicians do. No proper closure for their treacherous acts. 

No retribution.

No consequences.

Not on my watch.

Our watch.

Aside from two dudes who know what we have to do in order to stifle the Red Doom…

I don't trust anyone else to be on my side.

Or theirs.

Y'all ready to get down and dirty?

Me too.

Less gamble, more guarantee. 

Manhunt’s gonna be our Coming Out party.

Jason Jackson shuts the shower down. He's done, physically clean and fired up for Culture Shock 2025, with ReVival 64 fresh on the brain. Coming off the Heroes’ big win, his sights are on the stars, and is just too ready to talk about it.

Fuck, dude.

He takes some ginger steps out of the fancy hotel stand-up shower, clutching his sides which are purple and fucking yellow thanks to the Gluminatti’s Master Ass Classless Cuntman.

Fuckin’ Cecil. Asked for gospel and got a goblin…

It wasn't enough for him to create Max. But to go after an innocent lil’ piggy who found himself in the wrong trough, got his lady love stolen slash brainwashed slash abused slash broken?  And break out the brass slash platinum knuckles?

On me? I was the closest thing he had to a distraction for Max trying to kill his creepy little ass.

Crash flash jumps to sitting in a baseball stadium. In the seats on both sides are a plethora of baseball-game, mini-munchy, delicious-as-hell hotdogs. Offering them to those nearby, the Northern Light can't help but find offense in nearly everyone turning down his glorious gifts. A small 9 year old girl comes back to her seat after collecting popcorn and a cup of authentic ramen.

“You suck,” the girl says before her mother drops her jaw. “Everyone hates you cause you’re a bunch of losers and are gonna beat you up and make you cry.”

This little girl isn't gonna bully me again, bro!

“Angela B. was right. You don't know how to use hair products,” Crash snaps two fingers and does a head swivel. “And it shows.”

The girl’s mom catches Crash being mean out of context. He shrugs and points toward the crowd, hoping his boys show up soon, but needs to explain himself without immediate relief.

“So like…” how the fuck can you explain this to a normal person, bro? “I thought she was makin’ fun of me but it adds up that we were both talkin’ about endin’ Cecilworth Farthington’s and Ivan Stanislav’s existence on Earth as a mutual peace treaty if she stopped pickin’ on me.”

Let's add that Cecil fucker to the list.

Crash looks over his sides in the mirror. Discolored and alarming, he knows he’s in the deep end now. The end with the sharks. The Whores and the hounds. Everyone who’s anyone would be right to take out the Pups if they want some clout. They'd be fittin’ for a fight though, Crash thinks, as he runs his finger tips around the deep yellow spout amidst the purple circle on his right side. He presses in deep to the point his teeth pop through his lips.

Brought the boys with me though….

His eyes drift to lock onto his own gaze and dive deep into the hypothetical scenarios ahead. The What If’s strike an internal chord that shifts his demeanor.

Not gonna be laughin’ about this next time, bro. Settin’ off alarms left and right…

He cracks a proud and worrisome smile.

Exactly what we’re tryin’ to do.

A knock on the door jostles Crash. He wraps the towel around his waist, knowing he has no shame to hide for the door knocker, as he slides it open.

Don't look at me, Purps.

His eyes fall as VP examines his body. It's not sexual. Yet. Crash lifts his sight line to see Violent Purple forming a tear and grabs her hand. Her lip begins to quiver as a snarl starts to form under her piercing gaze.

“Don't be sad,” his tone drops and fills with sincerity. “I'm ready for whatever happens next, Purps.”

WHAM

VP whips Crash around and tosses him against the wall. So naked, so afraid, Crash isn't sure what comes next.

A rabid animal attack? A romantic moment?

Violent Purple throws Crash against the opposite hotel room wall. Very aroused but not, the Northern Light can't help but think about her voice. And touch. And vibrance.

He doesn't fight back.

“I love you, Purps…” the words slip out before violent death ends his struggle. “I'm never gonna let you go.”

Their eyes lock at the time in a rom-com where they'd latch lips. This is PRIME though and the fear of death is too prevalent for either to turn down the doom and gloom as PRIME’s Hot Dog Hero relinquishes desire. His dream is for VP to come back

All the fuckin' way back, bro.

“Never again.”

She grips his hand without a signal. VP and Crash lock eyes. It's a war, they're in, and in war is love. He knows she's there but can't even tell if she knows who he is. Crash grips VP’s hand with a soft but firm touch before their eyes meet.

Don't promise somethin’ you can't keep, bro.

This is when the Northern Light spots something shiny out of the corner of his eye. VP pauses, gripping a hotel letter opener in her other hand before letting his words register which seemingly presses her Off switch. She notices how soft Crash looks at her. No judgement. No regrets. His smirk says a lot. The fear in her eyes is what Crash sees and breathes more life into the fire that’s burning deep inside him. His mind goes to the Manhunt match and how it’ll take everything he’s got to put on a defining performance.

Even monkeys fall from trees.

He narrows his eyes; “Not goin’ anywhere, Purps.”

That moment is magnetic. Violent Purple drops the very common weapon and crawls into the corner, ready for her comeuppance and lashings. Crash, averting death in an Osaka hotel room, takes a long, deep breath, before reducing his position in the room.

“Stop,” Crash takes his place on the floor a few feet away from VP. “I'm here. For you “

Max stole you from me. Dawkins helped turn that into months. I’m gonna make the most of every minute I get with you, girl.

Something different happens. Crash turns his head upward. It's not drawn by a noise or a notion but from a feeling deep in his chest. The feeling that he's part of something larger now. Regardless of what they wanted to do, Nobody's Heroes are in the thick of it and that clicks with New York’s Finest.

Survival 

The thought of chopping down the biggest tree crosses his mind before another stern smile. He looks at VP before resting a confident hand on her shoulder, despite the risk, before she snarls.

“I'm gonna go beat every fucker that steps in front of me…” Crash pauses, gauging VP’s body language.

She reacts with a perk and jerk he hasn't seen in a while. His eyes scan to her hands, which still quiver at the mention of conflict. They lock eyes, miles apart, before his eyes grow wet as the Hot Dog Hero remembers Belarus and her absence in his life.

The spark to this fire. The oxygen to their flame.