He expected one of those eventually. Blood's reflexes easily rivaled Falcon's, but given the unforgiving tiny confines of the elevator, it was all he could do to raise his fist in a brilliant effort to defend himself by meeting fist-to-fist with a punch.

It of course hurt like a motherfucker--fire and all especially--and he felt wetness form inside of his gloves that was undoubtedly his blood, but the stinging pain only seemed to motivate him all the more. A punch would beget a kick, the tip of his boot just barely scraping by a wall while it swing around to try and clock Falcon in the head good.