Stan sidestepped. The first fist sailed past his ear. His counter landed, a short, brutal hook to the ribs, and the guard folded like a chair, dropping to one knee with a choked gasp.
The second came from behind, a bear-hug attempt, arms wide, trying to pin Stan's arms to his sides. Stan ducked under the grab, drove his elbow backward into the man's solar plexus, and followed with a turning punch that caught him flush on the temple.
The guard's eyes rolled. He went down.
The remaining four rushed him simultaneously.
What followed lasted approximately fifteen seconds, and every person on the dance floor watched it with the frozen, open-mouthed disbelief of people witnessing something that shouldn't have been physically possible.
