Brawl Stars Short Stories

Not My Type

Colt's walk home was wonderfully accentuated by the lack of life on the usually busy streets. He sauntered down the sidewalk with a sober sway like a fairy on clouds. His day had gone swimmingly. He and Shelly had spent the entire day together. From the break of dawn to the setting of the sun they'd been on a fun adventure together.

Breakfast at Piper's Bakery, followed by a bit of early morning brawling at Super Stadium. They had nearly won but the team of Chester and Otis was too chaotic for them to compete. That was okay though since they decided to hit the showers and rush to the theaters where they caught Lola and Gray's latest detective film. A black and white motion picture with no dialogue. It was nice seeing Lola perform a role that was all bluster and no bite.

Afterward, they grabbed dinner and played some games at Rico's arcade. Despite getting constantly crushed on every machine he even managed to hold his cool long enough to walk her home before it got too dark. A feat that earned him the reward of a kiss on the cheek from the Latin queen.

He really loved their friendship but he'd be lying if he didn't say he wanted more. Maybe someday soon he'll muster up the courage to admit how he feels. But that's far off into the future.

As he continued his merry stroll a heavy overcast cooled off the top of his head. He felt a calming breeze rush through his cherry-red scalp. He rested a hand on his revolver as he always did when most relaxed. It just felt right.

The night casually crept up on him and the streetlights began to flicker to life. He hadn't noticed it was pitch black due to the clouds covering the stars above. Though a new and chilly air did fill the once-serene expanse of asphalt.

As he continued his walk he noticed someone walking towards him. They were on the same side heading south to his north. But there was this aura around them. A sense of dread. No. Malice. Hatred even. This man was certainly tortured and looking for an outlet.

Colt decided it would be best to mind his own business and avoid eye contact. He kept his head down and his hands in his pockets. He let a silent whistle leave his teeth as they drew ever closer to one another. Then suddenly he felt a weight on his shoulder.

He was yanked around till his face was staring down a squared lens. "Say cheese," a giddy voice vocalized. There was an intense flash of light before his retinas were set on fire. Colt stumbled back into a sharp strike to his back. He could feel the sole of a powerful foot embed the pattern on its bottom into his spine.

As he stumbled forward once more, he was caught in the jaw as someone swung a metal object into his face. He could feel a tooth come loose from the stiff strike. He managed to stay on his feet in time for his vision to return. When the pain finally subsided he was able to tell who was attacking him.

He first saw the military green and task-force black outfit of the local film major Buster. His darkened shades didn't hide much as he had a small smile on his lips. Colt saw that his projector was dented from what he assumed was the result of his chin strike.

Colt tried to turn around but ate another roundhouse kick to the temple. His vision was getting fuzzy again. He could see someone raring back another kick from too far away. But before he could fall out of range Buster pushed him forward once more. And Colt got to taste the underside of this person's boot. He'd felt these shots several times before.

He didn't need to see him, he knew exactly what he looked like. Majorelle Blue hair. A burnt red and auburn yellow topless visor. Blue trousers plus yellow suspenders. Then pumped-up golden kicks.

Fang.

What he didn't know, was why? Why were they attacking him? He didn't have the time to find an answer. A stiff shot connected with his torso from a punch by Buster. Followed by Fang holding his arms while the cameraman let loose to quick swipes with his massive camera. The ticket boy quickly yanked Colt's body down and landed a sharp knee to his torso. A blow that removed any air he had within his lungs.

Another knee to the nose surely broke it as a trail of blood began to fly into the sky. Buster quickly followed up by kicking out Colt's legs from below him leaving him on a knee. And Fang pump-kicked his chest sending him flying into the middle of the street.

As Colt rolled about into the road his body was scraped till the flesh turned raw. He struggled to get to his feet as Fang and Buster began advancing once more. His guns. He needed his guns. He had to fire back. Just as he got one unholstered a set of golden shoes came flying towards him. One hit his hand sending the firearm flying away while the other collided with his cheek. Much less painful than the attacks from before. Yet, twice as detrimental.

Colt turned back hoping to get ahold of his secondary pistol. Then with the strength of a professional field goal kicker, Fang punted Colt in his skull. The sheer force his head swung to the side with threatened to snap his neck.

The two got within range and began their onslaught once more. Buster continued to send Colt flying into a flurry of strikes from the wannabe actor. And Fang's speed and power only seemed to increase with time. As too did his malice and ferocity. All the while they remained silent. The only sound that could be heard was the stiff grunts and pained groans coming from the trio. Colt was left laying in a pool of his own blood as he curled in on himself. His nose was busted, his body bruised, and during the frantic beating he had soiled his pants.

Though that didn't stop them. Fang continued to kick him like he was a filthy mutt that had attacked his cat. Then stomp like a Colt was a bug that had invaded his home. Even when Colt pleaded between his bloody coughing fits Fang refused to stop. It wasn't until Buster pulled him back that the kicks halted.

The two stood over Colt with heavy breaths. They had worn themselves ragged with the brutal smackdown. Colt on the other hand was brought to pained sobs underneath them. Struggling just to remain conscious let alone breathe with the countless broken ribs and potentially torn muscles. Fang managed to spit off to the side in disgust while retrieving his shoes. "Stay away from my girl, prick."

With that Fang and Buster finally walked away. They left back the way Colt had come from. His final words rang inside Colt's skull a hundred times over. His girl? Colt somehow managed to voice his confusion. "Y-Your g-g-girl..." He propped himself up on a single arm and yelled, "I don't...!" He slipped on his own blood but finished the plead, "I don't even like Janet!"

Colt instantly regretted it as Fang stopped in his tracks. The martial artist looked to the starless sky before turning back to him. He didn't even look amused by the claim. He quickly made a statement. A matter-of-fact tone on his tip, "Janet?" He turned about as if thinking about the premise before quickly dismissing it, "Nah... she's not my type."

He continued walking ahead with Buster following close behind. His best friend couldn't help but laugh as Fang finished off his train of thought, "I prefer Latinas."