As the thug tipped over Taylor’s chair, he instinctively rolled back into an upwards stance, slashing his attacker’s eye in the process and eliciting a howl of pain from the six foot three brick wall of a man. 

Taylor whirled around to take stock of his surroundings, but another thug was faster and tackled him to the ground, causing him to lose his knife. For several seconds they both grappled and crushed each other on the floor in a sort of primitive, manic dash of adrenaline, while the now one-eyed thug nursed his wounds in the corner of the room. Suddenly, the thug he was in combat with headbutted his forehead, causing him to momentarily black out. In a fit of disorientation, the thug was able to get him in an arm lock, putting him into position for his angry and now one-eyed friend to beat up. 

Taylor looked across the room, and marveled in silent horror at the Indian whirling his tomahawk and shouting what he assumed were slurs in his native language at Logan. Christ, the bastard and his kind could fight.

“Uh... hey! Hey, redskin!” Taylor squirmed in his captor’s arms as the hulking cyclops crept closer towards him. “Could use a little help here!”