Doug had never been beaten up in his life.
As a young child, his mother saw fit to make him miserable, but thankfully she never resorted to physically putting Doug into the wringer. Maybe it made him psychologically worse in the long run, but he escaped childhood unscathed by bruises and scars, and was a cute little boy with a lot of friends and mostly no troubles.
In elementary school, things were quiet where he lived. He was a good, if dreamy, student, and very creative and witty in every situation. The kids in his school picked on slower, easier targets. Doug also had a comeback for if anyone even tried to mess with him, so he managed to get off the hook all the time as no one wanted to be at the end of that blowtorch. Regardless, Doug’s youth was spent in relative happiness and contentment.
Sure, in highschool he was not too popular with a lot of the girls, but with the boys, he had a great time. He was not the most popular, but he was pretty high up on the pole, a reason why he was not more being that he never invited people over. His home was too private to be popular. He did not have too much of an issue with that, as he never was one of those soft or nerdy kids that got picked on, and did not have a need to be beloved by all. Not getting beaten up was a bonus.
In college, Doug gained popularity (and a reputation as a lady’s man) with good humor and looks. Beating up other kids was a thing of the past, except when the football team got out of hand. Doug still remembered that visitor backer decking one of his college’s teammates because he made some stupid remarks about the cheerleaders, and racism, and… well, a lot of things, and everyone agreed that he had it coming. But no, university had Doug bruise free.
As an adult, too, Doug had escaped all physical harm. If a client lost a case, too bad, and they were escorted away in cuffs. Doug was untouchable, in every possible way, and he basked in that glory with ease and comfort. He had been hit perhaps twice, once on accident, and the culprits were always dealt with easily.
When Doug aged, he somewhat regretted that no one had beaten the sense into him. That dear detective tried, but he was too soft to drill the message in. It was too late.
On the cold stony cement, Doug’s nose was bleeding, his stomach was tucked into itself, and he could not get in a single breath. The Joy Joy Gang had another unfair advantage of being made of metal, easily cutting into his psudoflesh and leaving welts that quickly burst into bleeding. He could not even curl up with the unending assault.
Doug had never been beaten up in his life, so death saw fit to correct that.