The resounding snapping and crunching of bone has a boom of cheering and jeering sweeping across the stands. A lot of people are wondering if they're about to lose a huge amount of money based on the bets that were placed before this match began.

Jim doesn't hear a word of it. His breath is coming in deep, ragged gulps. He doesn't have a plan in mind from here. More than likely he'd continue trying to curb-stomp Solo or kick him in some way but there's a hand fisting tight in his shirt and with a squawk Jim gets drug down with Han.

The second Jim's side collides with the ground he's scrabbling to get up, thrashing in Hans's grip. Both of his hands wrap around the scoundrel's functional wrist, trying to force the other to release him. He can't let himself be held down against his will. He won't. Not again. Never again. The smaller captain flashes a glare Han's way and is only met with a fist full of dirt.

"Fuck!" Jim lets go of Han's arm, one hand shooting up to his face while the other gropes blindly for the chain. He grabs a loop of the slack and swings it out in front of him wildly. It's more a defensive motion than one to try and catch Han again.

He must hit something because there's a punched out shout of swearing in a language Jim's never heard before. The world becomes a painful bleary mess as Jim starts to regain vision. His feet are underneath him and he's about to get back to his feet when the chain is wrenched from his fingers and swung back against his temple at full force.

He drops into the dirt, not fully unconscious but definitely stunned.