#goldenchavs

The Golden Chavs also learned about the Bros' match against the Cyanus, which is dominated by Alien. It won't be long before the teams should arrive at the stadium. All preparations had already been made, it was said.

Eddy romps alone through the streets of his Chav bruhz. No one is to be seen. Out of boredom and frustration, he treats himself to a big sip of his favorite booze. He doesn't want to be alone.

But his bruhz aren't there. He thinks to himself, then he can also drink the world beautifully.

Again, he took a sip of Buckfast, the tonic wine that is very popular with the British Chavs.

His eyes fell on the bottle, and an idea came to him - a crazy idea. If his buddies aren't there, then he can at least try to do something about the Cyanus.

He trots to the stadium via a detour because he had to get something.

At the stadium he realizes that no one is there. Wonderful, his plan could work. He went to the locker rooms and found the one belonging to Cyanus.

He listens to the door. There is nothing to be heard. Carefully, he opens the door and peeks inside. No one was there. Eddy enters the room, looks around. There they are – the Cyanus water bottles. GEAT. He is close to his goal:

He nimbly empties them and fills them with high-proof tonic wine.

As unnoticed as he came, he also left the stadium unnoticed but grinning maliciously.

Hey, that's going to be fun once they've reached for the water bottle.

In a good mood, he ends the day in the park. His day was saved.

Hey, would you like to be a Golden Chav too? Or another member of the Golden Army?

Then get in touch with our recruiters: @polo-drone-001, @brodygold, or @polo-drone-125

Tanner had seen the Gods. He had stood in the halls of the Preps. But the Army wasn’t finished teaching him. His steps took him now into the courtyard, lit with the glow of dusk and banners swaying overhead. The air was different here—louder, sharper, alive with swagger and pride.

They came first, a crew of golden figures striding with caps tilted low, chains glinting like sunfire, sneakers so clean they reflected the stone underfoot. Their shiny tracksuits caught the light, every movement a flex. Tanner felt the charge in the air—raw energy, untamed, electric.

One stepped up to him, grinning wide, snapping his fingers in rhythm with his words. “You’re #61, yeah? Fresh fire.” Tanner nodded, kit gleaming. The chav leaned closer, voice fast and fearless: “Strength ain’t just in the gym, bro. It’s in the streets. Hustle makes loyalty. Swagger makes shine.” Tanner felt it—he wasn’t being tested in push-ups this time. He was being tested in edge. Could he carry himself like gold, even with fire snapping around him? He squared his shoulders and matched the chav’s stare. He didn’t flinch. The chav smiled. Respect earned.

Then silence fell. The Arab Bros entered. Their presence shifted the air—calm, but heavy with command. They wore flowing golden robes edged with sashes, their eyes sharp, their stances regal. No chains. No sneakers. Just heritage turned into living gold.

One approached Tanner, gaze steady, voice low but unshakable: “Pride is fire. Tradition is strength. Stand tall, and no one can move you.” Tanner stood straighter without thinking. His kit glowed under their gaze, but it felt different than with the Chavs. This wasn’t about swagger. It was about dignity. Not fire that flared, but fire that endured.

The Chavs circled him on one side, the Arab Bros on the other. Two pillars, two flames. Tanner felt them both press into him: the quick spark of the streets, the steady blaze of tradition. For a moment he wavered. Was he supposed to choose?

But then it clicked. He didn’t have to. He could carry both. Hustle and pride. Swagger and stance. The Army wasn’t about choosing one style—it was about uniting them. About bringing the whole world into gold.

He flexed, chest swelling under the bold letters of his kit. His voice carried, louder than he expected: “I am both.”

The courtyard roared. Chavs clapped his back, Arab Bros nodded in approval. Tanner #61 had passed again. Not by muscle. Not by silence. But by embracing both edges of the flame.

As the sun set and the courtyard blazed gold, Tanner understood. The Army was bigger than him, bigger than any single look, voice, or style. The Chavs brought the spark. The Arab Bros brought the pride. And together, they made the Army unstoppable.

And now, so did he.