"Sorry, mate, it's a bad day to be you," says Wells as Spoon continues forward, blithely upright and stinking of blood. And that's all he says, because without batting an eye he's putting on exactly as much speed as it takes to dart forward, grab the guard by the wrists, and twist hard. And not in the sense of 'ow', but in the sense of 'AAAGH', and, more importantly, crunch.

There may be an elbow in the face too. Depends how fast the guard reacts.