He doesn’t waste a moment. Lets go of the axe, brings both hands round on either side of my head and slams them together. Catches me underneath both ears. The impact makes me nauseous, causes the world to go black for just a moment.

But I’m alright.

Because I don’t feel anything.

And then I realise I’m on my back and suddenly it’s like there are flames inside my skull.

I try to sit up. Can’t do it.

Bastard’s put me down for the count.

He’s big. Doesn’t need technique so much as momentum. He’s a brawler. The kind of bastard you could see in another life slinging arseholes from pubs.

Aye, looking for zero tolerance? This is who you’d call.

I’m too stunned to even be angry.

Didn’t he say it himself?

We’re the same, McNee.

Meaning on the inside. Like we were kindred spirits. Some bollocks like that.

Aye, right.

But I should have seen this coming sooner. Should have known it would happen.

Of course, I’ve got a death wish, haven’t I?

Seeking out danger. Any excuse to put myself in the path of pain.

And the way he’s built…

The very embodiment.

He gives me a moment, lets me try and stand. Then kicks out with those bastard boots, knocks me back on my arse. Am I hallucinating, or do I hear a rib crack?

I’m past feeling anything. Aware of the pain, but it’s like something inside me’s broken and all the signals are coming in over long distance.

Do I cry out? I don’t know. I could have made sound, or maybe I’m too far gone.

Jesus Christ, I don’t know.

I blink, try to bring the world back in focus.

Look up at the big man.

But he’s gone fuzzy. Like he’s fading out of the world.