Only one way to win: hit him quick, get out fast. But...

"Can't aim for shit," Alexander muttered.

His opponent gasped. "Oh my! This is a family friendly TV show. Now stand still while I murder you."

Alexander swore again as a bolt-shaped projectile grazed him as he ducked behind Aaron. "I'd give anything for my glasses right now."

Aaron frowned. "Please don't use me for cover." He fired at Mettaton's heart. "And we do have glasses."

"They're cloudy," Alexander whined, "How am I supposed to look him in the eye, aim no higher? With the lighting and the glare, I can't even see where that thing is."

"Mettaton." The acoustics of the Core carried the murmur of Aaron's correction to the audience, who cheered at the mention of the Underground's only star.

"Invigorated by the applause, the being spoke: "A.. arms? Wh... who needs arms with legs like these? I'm still going to win!"

"Oh." Alexander rolled up his sleeves. "It's on." He squinted into darkness and shouted, "I'm not going to get hit AT ALL." The cheers grew louder. "Burr, hand me the glasses."

Aaron put a hand to his forehead. "So we're doing this." Resigned, he handed the Cloudy Glasses to Alexander, who put them on with a flourish. The already deafening cheers somehow became more frenzied.

"Incoming, Alex," Aaron muttered as bombs and blocks staggered toward them, single file. Alex shot back, sidestepping quickly as they went boom!

But any hope of success was fleeting; how could they keep winning when Burr kept bleeding? Hands over right hip, bent double. Alexander wished he could get the lieutenant colonel a medic, but Aaron mouthed I'm fine and shook his head. Staggering to his feet, he smiled. Only Alexander felt him wince. The cheers dissolved into a chant:

Burr! Burr! Burr! Burr! Burr!

"Haha, how inspiring! Well, darling! It's either me or you! But I think we both already know who's going to win. Witness the true power of humanity's star!" The machine's voice reverberated throughout the Core.

Distracted, Mettaton had once again left his heart exposed.

Outrun—Alexander pulled Aaron to his side, as they dashed across the stage. Alexander kept shooting.

Outlast—He tried to ignore sweat beading on Aaron's forehead, breathing labored, his hiss as he jostled his wound.

Focus, Alexander. Aaron was still standing. He was a smart man; he'll be fine.

(Alex was not flying any more flags half-mast—raise a glass.)

They would stay alive until this horror show passed.