Bro Doesn't Need No Time

🌭

You and me, Goldy.

Bash and Crash.

No RIA this time.

So after this, one of us will definitely get to noogie the other and brag to all their friends about who won.

You want the truth, dude?

I’m just glad to get out there again.

Last time, I didn’t have what it takes. I got caught up in all the bright lights of a match with two names that are heating up around PRIME.

So I just want to say, bro, from the bottom of my heart…

No fuckin’ way that happens again.

From the minute I left the Rogers Arena, I had a sour taste in my mouth, bro.

Not because RIA won. Not from you. You seem like a decent dude, dude. But because I could have done more to make sure I came out of there with that win and I didn’t bring it that night.

So from here on out, I’m punched until the match is over. 

I guess that’s too bad for you, Bash.

Not really bad, I guess, but more like unfortunate, bro. I’m just ready to make up for the countless chances I’ve let slip by me in short order and, that’s probably not gonna bode well for you, is all I’m sayin’. Not just you though. 

It’s like everyone, bro.

Not because I want to hurt you, brombre.

I really don’t. I just can’t speak to the consequences of gettin’ in front of me in the ring from this point forward, Gold Bro. Because I’ve got places to go, Goldy, and right now… I want to get there.

Fast.

🌭🌭

In the heart of Hooptown USA, the HOTDOGterouge come together as a collective minus their lynchpin, Jason Jackson, PRIME’s favorite processed meat tube connoisseur. Raffi Azarian sports business casual travel attire whereas Greg, Jacque, and Broque look like they’re on some sort of vacation to go watch Dan Dickau and the Zags during Rivalry Week. Then again, Greg usually has a drink in his hand these days regardless of the occasion, so it’s hard to tell with him. Broque feels for his phone, pulling it out to the tune of "It's All Coming Back to Me Now” by Celine Dion.

“Zo good.”

A few of the NPCs in the background begin to turn their attention to spot this blond musclebear of a man, sporting a pink and blue Hawaaiian beach shirt with no intention to use the buttons, ever, jamming to the 90’s classic and soft-bumping his phone and holds out on answering for just a few more lines. Raffi stares on with mild surprise before turning toward Greg. The Ego doesn’t spend the energy to acknowledge the look on Raffi’s face, he simply takes a sip off his Morning Mai Tai and nods to onlookers. Half apologetically, half as to say ‘Deal with it, nerds.’

“Bon. Crash says he is on ze way down now, bros.”

Jacque, enjoying the ringtone a little too much, becomes visibly upset when Broque opens his phone, and quickly stands to his feet. What makes this even sillier is that he’s wearing a contrasting blue and pink Hawaaiian beach shirt. They exchange a look that could lead to a knuckle tasting later. Raffi’s attention shifts from the totally reasonable LaRoque Conflict of 2024 to the man they’re all trying to get to the top of PRIME.

“Gentlemen, I want to speak with you before Crash gets here, honest and open.”

Broque stops looking at his phone, Jacque takes his seat, and Greg takes another sip from his Mai Tai with a slight eye roll.

“This should be good.”

Raffi shoots him a small smirk but a glance of the ‘watch out motherfucker’ nature. Greg knows that one warrants another, longer sip from his Mai Tai before Mr. Azarian addresses his company. It’s so serious he removes his smokey aviators and Airpod earpiece.

“We all want the same thing here, right? I pay you all good money to do what you’re doing…”

He points his index finger into the air, sure to make eye contact with each and everyone taking his perfectly good money for services rendered.

“So do it fucking better, bros.”

The point hit home when Greg finally turns his head and thinks about something other than his cold morning beverages. The Laroques shoot each other a glance before back at Raffi. Jacque kicks his chin up.

“What do you want us to do, boss?”

Raffi shrugs violently, waving his hand toward the elevator area.

“I don’t know! I just know he’s close to something. What, I don’t know yet. What I do know is we have to help him find Violent Purple. That seems to be the only thing that can get through to him, for reasons… I have no fucking clue about.”

Greg lets his previously propped foot slam onto the floor with only the thud of a size 15 flip flop can do. This gesture of ‘exfuckingscuse me’ steals the attention of the group.

“Fuck that. That’s not what he needs, especially if you want him to become this great big superstar or whatever the fuck you want to do wi…”

Greg narrows his eyes at Raff and cocks and eyebrow. Both Jacque and Broque look on at Raffi with wide open eyes and mouths..

“What exactly do you mean when you say things like ‘What I want to do with him?’”

Raffi snaps his fingers, stealing the focus back to him, and looks Greg right in the eye with ferocity.

“Joke all you like, old man, but I can easily dump you back in the swamp I found you in. If you don’t want to be here… there’s the goddamn door.”

The tone shifts immediately, again made a point by the facial expressions of the LaRoques. These ones are very scary, thinking about the future of HOTDOGS. Greg holds up an open hand, waving off the offense.

“Sorry, Raf. Got off track. What I mean is, if you want to see Crash become this major player in PRIME, we gotta clear his head first. He needs time to forget all about that and zone in on getting better, from the minute he opens his eyes to the time he closes ‘em. You follow me?”

There’s a silence for a bit. Broque still is looking at Raffi with fear for Greg’s financial future. Jacque is nodding along with whatever Greg just said, he came in at the middle and just heard the end real good. Raffi shrugs.

“So what are we gonna do here, champ?”

Greg takes a second to think and sip his Mai Tai, of course.

“Well, it’s gonna take a while. If I have that kid figured out, he’s got a thick head, so he’s gonna hang on to her as long as he can. I don’t think it’s love… he went through some real life shit with her. For her. Then got his absolute ass kicked for it. Pretty much has since then. We gotta remind him why it’s worth going through that to get on top.”

Jacque claps, smiling at the sound of that, before Raffi watches him fidget around with minor worry. Raffi turns back to Greg with curiosity in his eyes.

“So how do we do that?”

The Ego searches for a quick answer but only a simple one comes to mind. That’s when the bell of the elevator chimes and steals Greg’s attention. The doors part to reveal PRIME’s most noble hotdog connoisseur looking very, very different.

“I’m not really sure we have to, Raf…”

🌭🌭🌭

The darkness fades away to show Crash standing alone at the edge of what looks to be an old-timey battlefield nestled in the bosom of mountains surrounding the Midcard Tryhard. He lifts his head to soak in the sunlight but quickly notices the shadows of storm clouds moving into place. Within seconds, the favorable sunlight washes away just as lightning rips across the sky. An ominous thunder boom seemingly rips the clouds open, bringing on the sound of heavy, violent rain smacking into the desert floor, quickly turning it into a slick and sloppy sea of mud.

He doesn’t drop his head or shoulders. He doesn’t take cover or run for shelter. New York’s Finest simply stands under the sheets of rain with eyes forward, taking aim at the army amassing straight ahead. The sight of a gangly, lanky figure draws a snarl-smile from the Brotagonist but that begins to fade away once the silhouettes of others begin to form a wall, coming in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

Crash roars instinctively, knowing that this gauntlet ahead will never end and there’s only one choice when it comes to moving forward.

Keep fighting.

He tears his shirt off, revealing hotdog nunchucks and a pair of footlong hotdogs in their wrapper holsters. He unsheaths his footlongs before charging directly ahead. One figure illuminates in the distance, stepping forward, and begins laughing at Crash.

“Going somewhere, Crash?”

The voice rips over the sky at a deafening level, much the same the crack of a volcano erupting might. The sends Crash to his knees, dropping his deep-fried death weapons, before the Hot Dog Hero notices his situation is much worse than that. In his charge to glory, and certain death, he has sunk in the mud, and now the mud is holding him in place.

That’s when Kerry Kuroyama appears just a few feet from Crash, dangling his Alias Title from his reach, drawing a small smile from the Emerald Apex. In the same breath, Kerry disappears in the wind. Behind Crash comes strolling RIA and newcomer Sebastian Gold. RIA stands at his side as he flings himself towards her, before thunder booms overhead with the rain seemingly coming down harder and harder.

“WINNER IS… RIIIIIAAAAAAAA”

Again, the victor of their match with Grand Master Crash whisps away with the wind in the blink of an eye. This is when our hero notices his legs are free and the clouds are parting. Sunlight shines down as he relishes it’s warmth before remembering there’s still one of PRIME’s warriors nearby. He spins to lock eyes with his opposition at Fifty Six.

Sebastian Gold.

Both men, hungry for victory, show their teeth before charging at one another with primal violence. Crash keeps his eyes on his target before the light shining down becomes so goddamn bright it blinds him and everything goes white.

BZZZT

BZZZT

BZZZT

The wakeup alarm on Crash’s phone pulls him from the fantastical combat arena dreamscape without ease. He shoots up in bed, sweating at a medium rate, before reaching over to see the time is 6:20AM.

Shit, bro. So damn dark out here. Can’t even tell it’s mornin’. 

In the evening, however, in just six nights, he was going to get a chance to make that dream he just had come true. Taking on Action Bastian at the Spokane Arena to start the march to Colossus. The thought of how close he’s come recently, and tripped up when it mattered most, enters the back of his mind.

Nope.

Crash flicks the light on and gets out of bed. He looks at himself in the mirror and takes a long, hard look.

It’s easy to say. Time to get it done, son.

The Northern Light doesn’t smile. He doesn’t grin. He just nods at himself and tells those negative thoughts to head on back to where the fuck they came from.

Gotta start with breakfast, bro.

🌭🌭🌭🌭

The rest of the group look to the elevator to see Crash emerging with a blazing confidence in his stride and eyes. It could be that for the third day in a row, he is wearing clean socks? Or that he bought a sweet looking watch. Or that the desk girl just shot him a look and he isn’t even carrying any hotdogs.

I’m fuckin’ feelin’ it, bro.

Both Jacque and Broque stand to their feet quickly, dapping up their bro, and  then allowing him to shake hands with Raffi. Greg takes a sip from his Mai Tai and just watches Crash.

“Big bro! How is going my man? Sleep okay?”

Crash recounts his evening, going back to the dozen doggies covered in all the proper toppin’s. A smile washes over his face before remembering how that made him a sleepy bro and he got a solid night’s rest. He nods at Raffi before looking over at Greg.

“Glad you woke up, old timer.”

Greg chuckles a little, mostly because he knows he’s not even that old, before smiling sarcastically at the young grappler.

“Sad you did, kid.”

It then becomes Crash’s turn to do the chuckles before looking back at his coach(?) with a shrug.

“So what’s the story today, Greg? We gonna hit the gym again, get all sweaty, then go hammer some doggies again? I can’t say I hate the routine.”

Jacque, Broque and Crash exchange high fives over the grind of the game. The physical part of wrestling that comes with precision, discipline, and experience. But then a nice lil’ cherry on top is a mountain of hot dogs on the company dime.

Experience, bro. That stuff changes things.

“Not today, kid. Today we can just lay low, take it easy. Do whatever you wanna do.”

The LaRoque boys slap hands another time to celebrate an off day.They turn to do the same with Crash but he responds without enthusiasm. Instead, he narrows his eyes toward Raffi and then back to Greg.

“Fuck that.”

I wanna go to work, bro.

Raffi stands to ease the tension and de escalate Crash’s suspicion of ulterior motives.

“We just wanted to let you, you know, clear your head if you need to, bro.”

You think Action ‘Bastian is gonna take it easy on me or somethin’? He isn’t. Why the fuck would he, bro? I gotta give him the respect of being as ready as I can ever be, bro.

“Well thanks, Mr. Azarian, but I don’t need to. I’m pretty sure what I need to do is beat Sebastian Gold, bro. He came with it the last time I got in there with him so ReVival Fifty Six, I want to be ready for anything.”

Greg finally stands to his feet. He looks down at Crash and simultaneously sips until it makes the empty sound through a straw with nothing to suck.

“So what do you wanna do, kid?”

Only one thing to do. Go toe to toe with Gold, bro. I figure it’s gonna be my first chance to really test myself against him, one on one. Neither of us could stop RIA… guess we’ll find out who has bragging rights after this one.

“Let’s get to work, old bro.”

Greg offers up a small smile before he shakes his head. Again, he’s not that old. This idiot doesn’t get that, though. He’s only just started his education in the game he’s playing. He got a good first hand lesson at Tropical Turmoil but there were many, many more ahead of Crash before he understood what it’s gonna take to stand amongst the giants of PRIME.

“Then, after that, we’ll all go get some fuckin’ doggies, dudes.”

Greg shakes his head again, reminding himself that he’s not there yet. He smiles because, as harsh as his criticism wants to be, he can’t deny that Crash is getting there.

🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭

Here we go, Bayani.

No more talk, workouts, or hype. 

The only thing that matters now is the match, man.

I admire that you were part of the stunts in movies, superstar. It means you're not afraid to get hurt.

You're gonna need that when I get you in the ring. You're gonna need more than that but, shit, it'll help.

I see a lot of me in you, man, I do. Fact is that I'm me and you're you so I don't think it makes much sense goin' light on ya, fella. Hell, I can barely take it easy on myself.

So on Friday night, when you're walkin' down that ramp, just remember that I told you what was gonna happen when that bell goes off. It might not be at the beginning, or the middle, or even at the end but, somewhere in there, you're gonna get what I mean when I say... get the fuck outta my way.

It isn't personal, Bash bro.

That's just how it's gotta fuckin' be these days, dawg.