[To McCree's credit, Achilles is not so even of breath or unruffled of features as he was upon the conclusion of their first bout. It is rare that he must strain at the limits of strength, and this shows plainly as the sheen of sweat across his chest. When he stretches his arm and rubs at it, he seems surprised that it could feel so sore.]

I do not think my arm can withstand another round against yours, nor does it seem that yours can withstand another round against mine, mere flesh though it may be. Thus a draw is agreeable to me, McCree of the iron arm.

[Look, he even won a sweet nickname out of this.]