THE MAN WHO DRESSED as a piñata, otherwise known as the Mighty Piñata, relaxed in his hospital bed, idly flipping through channels on the television, and doing his best to ignore the screams and the sounds of gunshots coming from somewhere outside the room.

He chewed at his lip as the TV cycled through channel after channel, landing on none longer than a second.

After the third rotation through the channels, he sighed and turned to the only other person to occupy the room. In the bed next to him was some sort of unidentifiable humanoid wrapped head to toe in a cast.

“The sounds of battle have me curious, invalid,” said the Mighty Piñata. “Do I investigate?”

The body cast did not respond.

“Every fiber of my being cries out to see justice done, to protect the innocent, but what can I do?” He dropped the remote onto the bed. “The doctor told me to stay. How can I fly in the face of such authority?”

But luck was with the Mighty Piñata this day, excepting for the matter of being shot. He had survived, of course, so luck was with him then as well. But would his luck hold? For now, as previously mentioned, yes. As the Mighty Piñata struggled with himself, made war with his conscience, his choice was made for him when two men in red jumpsuits entered the room. Both of them bearing an assault rifle.

“Well would you look at that, Roy,” said one of the men, gesturing toward the man who dressed as a piñata. “Some kinda rainbow horse.”

“Dang, Buck,” said the other man in red. “That has to be the dumbest thing I ever seen.”

Both of the men in red laughed.


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