My jaw feels like it’s been hit by a runaway freight train. I’m flat on my back, staring up at a gray sky that’s spinning like a goddamn record player. I can taste the copper in my mouth; my own blood. Haven't tasted that since... hell, maybe since some Russian scientist tried to see if a diamond-tipped drill could make me blink.

I look up, expecting a foot to my throat or some flashy finishing move, but you just stand there. No lunging, no posing for the cameras. You’re just... waiting.

I spit a red glob onto the pavement and push myself up, my joints popping like dry kindling. I take my time, dusting off my shoulders and straightening my shield. You’ve got nerve, kid. I’ll give you that. Bold, but stupid.

A dry, raspy chuckle rattles in my chest. It’s almost funny.

"Really gonna stand there and play fair?" I growl. My voice sounds like I just swallowed a handful of gravel. "That’s a mistake. In my day, if a man was down, you kept your boot on his neck until he stopped twitching. This 'honor' business is how people end up in pine boxes."

I take a step toward you, my boots crunching on the debris. I’m not even angry yet, I’m just impressed, which usually means things are about to get a whole lot worse for you.

"You think that lucky hook makes you the one to finally put me down?" I shake my head, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "I went toe-to-toe with the krauts at the Rhine. I’ve flattened 'heroes' who had their faces on every lunchbox in the country. I survived thirty years of Russian 'hospitality' that involved more radiation than a goddamn microwave."

I roll my shoulders, feeling that familiar, ugly heat starting to itch under my skin.

"I’ve fought guys who could move mountains, and I buried every last one of 'em. To me, you’re just another name on a very long list of people who thought they were the main character." I squint at you, my grip tightening on the handle of my shield. "But credit where it's due; that punch actually left a mark. That’s more than most of my old team ever managed."

I settle back into my stance, the weight of the shield feeling like a part of my own arm.

"Before I finish this, give me a name. I like to know exactly who I’m adding to the tally before I scrub 'em off the map. It'd be a shame for a hit like that to go unrecorded on your tombstone."