So Mickey could box. And the big man still had the look of a bleary-eyed half-awake pisshead. Who’d just been tasered, for all his hulking menace. So Mickey holstered the boxy black stun gun. Ripped the knuckle duster from its mag pad. And went for him, all guns blazing. Or at least as fast as he could, loaded with kit and wearing a shoulder holster.

Two lightning-fast left jabs to put Big Man back on his heels. And shut his mouth. Loving the moment, Mickey doubted that his opponent was used to being on the receiving end. Probably more used to having to chase down his prey. Having got the chump where he wanted him, he unloaded with his iron-shod right fist. Time to nuke the bastard from orbit.

The right hook landed perfectly, ganglion style. Every ounce of power in his body behind it. Staggered the bastard, blinking, back across the room to his bed. Which he sat on involuntarily, as the backs of his knees encountered the mattress.

Which gave Mickey a moment to contemplate him. To watch tensed arms bulging with muscle starting to push him back onto his feet. After which, Mickey glumly predicted, he would storm across the room. And take his ire out on Mickey in the form of non-Queensbury-approved fighting moves. Probably involving kicking, biting, strangulation and death. Back to plan A it was.

Drawing the Taser, he stepped back and shot Big Man again. The stun gun spitting its load across the space between them with a percussive bang. Putting another two darts into his already bleeding chest. Proper dart separation this time. The result immediate. Big Man slumped to his knees with a groan. Looked up at Mickey with hate-filled eyes, momentarily helpless. And this time Mickey didn’t wait for him to get over the shock. He stepped forward and kicked out. Nothing fancy, just a steel toecap driven into the big man’s groin. Hard. His victim grunted, unable to stop himself hunching over his abused genitals. Mickey holstered the Taser and went back to the knuckles. Wrapped them up in his right hand, rust-flecked steel with undoubted history. Punched down into Big Man’s temple as his head sank forwards. Dropped him like the proverbial sack of shit.

Game. Over.

‘What the fuck is going on?’

Mickey snatched the Taser from his waist, lightning fast on a wave of adrenaline-fuelled muscle memory. Turned to face the doorway. Pulled the trigger on the woman as she came through it. Her mistake shouting before knowing what she was dealing with. His, unforgivably, not counting his shots. Two charges, both fired. They stared at each other for an instant. She in disbelief, Mickey in self-disgust. He dropped the Taser and started forwards. Stopped by an angry grunt from behind him. Telling him that Big Man wasn’t out of the fight yet.