Gunstep (Convict Colosseum / Umamusume)

[AntXHuman333]

"I don't care."


Pistol Foot Pete flared his nostrils at the other finalist's words.


"You're one selfish sum'bitch, y'know that?"


"Would you kill for it?"


He paused at the question.


"…huh?"


"Would you be willing to kill to win this tournament…?"


Pete tilted his head.


"Would I kill someone…to go free?"


El Cucaracho held his breath…


"…I ain't that desperate. What's a few years in the can 'pared to a lifetime bein' dead?"


…then clenched his fist.


"…dunno if I phrased that right, but y'get my point. Ain't no prize worth a human life…what I'd be willin' ta do to not lose a fight, though…?"


"Now that's a different question. I've always wondered that myself…"


Thirty-eight states, Pete remembered. Thirty-eight wins…and not one moment where I was challenged…


"…how would I feel in that moment? How would I-"

---

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*


Like thunder, blows rained down on their bodies. El Cucaracho's eyes were glazed over, his body moving by instinct alone. Pete struck and struck with kicks like lightning, but only one in ten hits striking, despite his speed. But when they did, the tank of a man in front of him was blown back, a force greater than a rifle's slamming into his flesh and bones.


*WHOOSH*


A downward hammer fist flew from the boogeyman of North America. In that split millisecond…


*CRASH*


…Pete "checked" the blow with his left leg, the toughest part of his femur trading with it.


Under normal circumstances, El Cucaracho, the man unable to die, would be the one whose hand had broken, leaving both of his arms useless.


But throughout this battle…


…no way…!


…every other convict knew…


…damn it…!


…that Pete would be the one taking the most damage.


*CRACK*


Pain surged through his leg.


Shit…!


He staggered back, almost laying his weight on it.


…not good!


A "clean break" through his femur.


Before he could adjust his strategy, the beast in front of him lunged, landing on top of his body.


"AGH!"


Both of them slammed into the ground, locked in the tournament's last exchange.


"Ya ever spend so long lookin' fer somethin'…that ya give up hope of ever findin' it?"


Cucaracho's hand held Pete's neck, crushing him with a grip like a vice. In one split second, he would be able to kill Pete.


"Fight me, Pete."


Pete had willed his broken leg around Cucaracho's neck, his right hand held onto it.


"I DON'T WANNA FIGHT YOU LIKE THIS!"


Not…not when you're not at your strongest…


"Ngh…!"


The cowboy held the tranquilizer dart to his neck, just as El Cucaracho desperately rampaged in pursuit of death.


Time slowed.


"Please…"


Pete had a free leg, under El Cucaracho's head. Even with a broken bone, he could…


"Guess I'm a pretty selfish individual myself."


He shot it upwards, into his opponent's neck.


"PETE, I'M BEGGING YOU, PLEA-!!!!!"


Two sickening crunches silenced the colosseum.


Both of the fighters' bodies went limp.

---

"…"


Pete glanced at the window from his seat.


…no poppies.


"…"


Just a buncha trimmed grass.


Behind him, a man sighed.


"…would you like your luncheon, Pete? The chef has prepared a magnificent Beef Wellington today."


He glanced back down at his legs.


"…doctors said it was tetrapeligia, Peter."


"…"


His caretaker quietly nodded.


"…please let me know if you desire a different meal, good sir."


Behind his wheelchair, the door shut.


"Paralysis from the neck down, in layman's terms."


"…damn it…"


"He'll never fight again, I'm afraid."


His mind went back to the fight.


…incredible…


It was the only word he could use to describe the experience.


His mind went back to his previous opponents.


The Pure One…hope I beat some sense into 'em.


Firecracker, toughest bones 'fore I met him. Must've been fighting all his life.


The Scourge of British Columbia. Damn sorry for the killer.


Florida Man. Drownin' in vices, the only way he could fight me…


A tear fell from his eye.


"Cheer up, son! You won! You're free, filthy rich, and have every doctor in the United States at your service!"


Forgot ta mention that they can't fix…"this", huh…?


The door behind the former fighter opened.


"Your Wellington, sir."


He was wheeled to the dining table shortly, a TV in front of hi playing highlights from so-called "Kengan Matches" in Japan.


That lil' joy left for me…


As the food was placed in his mouth, Pete felt a certain emptiness.


…El Cucaracho died 'cause of me…


"…"


"Ain't no prize worth a human life."


…or was I just foolin' myself?


For he knew that he had reached a height he would never climb to again.

---

On his bed, Pete stared into the mural painted onto the master bedroom's ceiling.


Huh…some general in blue, ridin' his horse.


He yawned.


…jealous of the sum'bitch…


As his eyes, fluttered, his mind went back to his battle a year prior.


Blood. Sweat. A tear.


"…if you could do it all over again…would you…?"


"…"


Reluctantly, he nodded.


Just…as a horse runs…


…I kick.


As he drifted off, Pete swore he saw the general's horse nodding back at him.

 

[SpookedCommentator]

Pete about to show Umamusume on how to really use their legs.