While not a sport to be advocated, if one were handing out scores for gut-punching strangers Double Dragon would be a straight ten.
In a scene of palpable dramatic tension mini-skirted Marian stands outside Billy and Jimmy Lee's garage, alone on the cooling afternoon tarmac of a breezy city backstreet, the scent of tyres and WD40 hanging on the warm air. Contemplating the volatile love triangle that threatens the very brotherhood of her potential suitors, she's oblivious to the unkempt gang sauntering over, a picture of crudeness, all sweaty vests, blackened sockets and orange boiler suits.
Stinking of gasoline and hard liquor, the soiree gazes on with narcotic eyes and muddy grins as a Tony Manero wannabe strides over. When he's close enough that she can see his dilated pupils and smell the bouquet of gin and nicotine on his odious breath, crack!, he delivers a high-impact three-frame blow into her abdomen, so fierce it rattles the nearby garage shutters. She expels a helium-pitched shriek as the air is forced from her lungs faster than a Roddick serve, before the thug throws her over his shoulder and casually carts her away.
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