Roger Abramson stood in the limelight of the IGF Grand Bowl Arena. The ring was a spacious twenty feet. Blue and red stripes. A durable canvas. The makings of the world championship. Ever since Roger was 16, he had practiced relentlessly to get up to this point. Skipped highschool. Joined a professional boxing club. Went through several junior weight competitions. Suffered the unimaginable loss of his father. He flexed his bronze stature. Muscles rippling down his chest. He was a beast, the best, the greatest of all time. Now he would prove it to the world. The announcer called his name. Abramson “The Knife”. Thirty-five wins, out foxing, out boxing the sport’s brightest minds. Abramson then looked across the ring as the announcer called the name of his opponent.

Sam Brooks, also known as The Bear, looked out at the maasive stasium, 50, 000 people packed the stadium, screaming and chanting Bear and Knife over and over again. The spotlight above shone down on the sturdy and colourful canvas. Sam was probably a head taller than his opponent but a quarter slimmer. But both had a similar record. Sam entered the boxing scene at 18cand entered his first tournament at 23. The announcer said Sam's name. Brooks " The Bear, 34 wins and 5 losses. He awaited the almighty sound ams then it came. DING DING! Sam immediately rushed to the centre of the ring, awaiting Abramson.

In was only a few seconds after the bell rung, but Abramson seemed to have leaped across the ring. His footwork was impeccable, switching left and right in a dazzling display of finesse. It was as if god himself gave the man wings and had him fly across the canvas. The first punch came as a violent shock. A hook as fast as lightning off to the side, striking the tip of the Brook’s guard; a test shot used to gauge the strength of the guard, the quickness of his opponent’s eyes. Abramson strafed around Brook’s in a circle, unleashing a hail of light punches. Testing and testing again to see if there was something he could use. Did Brook’s guard too much with one hand? Did the man lean a little too much on one side? Does his eyes have trouble following the punches? These questions played out in Abramson mind, collecting scraps of information like a crazed animal.

The lightning quick punch felt like a sword and what felt like a thousand knives followed. Abramson was fast and he broke through and landed a couple of grazing shots. Left, right, left, right. he was like a pendulum. " How' your toughness? Let's find out." he thought. the bear took a step left when Abramson went right. barely dodging the punch. Sam went for a hook into his exposed side. Another step to the left and Sam went for a right cross at the face, ready to leave a metaphorical claw slash across his face.

Abramson leans his body back to avoid the hook. His eyes follow Brook's momentum. He can see a straight cross projecting from the man's body and rolls to the left to dodge it. He follows up with a feint, making it appear as is if he as unleashing another furry of light punches. He does this for two reasons. The first is that a feint only works when the user has seen the attack before. Get punched enough times the same way and you can guess when it will happen again. The second is because gimmicks work best when used for the first time. Brooks has only seen Abramson throw punches. Abramson is relying on the fact Brook's intuition will tell him that the feint is real since there is nothing in their match suggest otherwise. The real punch comes a fraction of a second later, an uppercut purposely hidden so that it would slip below Brook's peripheral vision if he were to put up his guard. A deadly dagger. A knife aimed straight for his chin with the precision of a finely sharpened razor.

The hook was dodged. Sam could see Abramson analysing him, reading him like a book. He pulled out of the cross and immediately dodged backwards. The uppercut was a blur to Sam. Fortunately, the retreat allowed him to see that Abramson was a trickster. Perfect. Sam has watched abramson's previous fights over and over. feints were his go to method. Sam seizes the opportunity to go on the offensive. One straight led to a cross with the other hand. Sam continued his onslaught with a hook and then another hook. A one-two combo followed, starting with one right cross then two lefts. There was no way Abramson could dodge the punches. Sam was determined to put him into defence.

Like an elusive shadow, Abramson slipped past the series of hooks and crosses approaching his direction. As an out boxer, his defense was one of the best in the world, bobbing beneath the hooks and weaving outside Brook’s extended arm. The first five rounds went in much of the same fashion, in a strange stalemate, as the two fighters tested each other with different techniques and strategies. It was not until the 7th round that the decisive blow came.

The round started at the touch of the bell, Abramson who was quick on his feet leaped into action. He glided around Brook, aiming precise shots that cut through the air at the man’s head. Abramson aimed to open a cut on Brook’s eyebrows which would allow him to punch the man at will for the rest of the match. He knew from round one how to break Brook’s defense. The question now was how much Brooks had learned from Abramson to stop that from happening.

The rounds felt like a tug of war going nowhere. A cross here, a counter there. At round 7 Abramson was lightning fast, the straight making a beeline for Sam's head. Everything seemed to be in slow motion and Sam stood still, but Abramson was left open, the momentum of the attack would throw him off balance if he didn't connect. Sam slipped left then right, and ducked and went around behind him. As Abramson woukd turn, his vision wouldn't see anything that came from the far side, if Sam could land a punch with his left, things would be easier. Sam saw the opportunity when Abramson would be halfway through the turn, he went for it. A left straight that would feel like a missile, this was his opportunity.

Abramson could sense the danger as Brooks got behind him and knew if he hesitated for a second that he would get nailed in the head. Boxing was full of situations, so as Brooks planned on smacking Abramson as he turned, Abramson knew from experience that standing in one place for more than a few seconds is liable to get you hit. Abramson didn’t stand and turn to face Brooks, but instead shuffled forward, gaining distance before he turned around to get his bearings, avoiding the counter that was awaiting him if he stood and turned in the same spot.

Training kept made his movements almost automatic. Swiftly adjusting his strategy, Abramson rushed back into the fray, snapping punches at the wrists of Brook’s hands at a comfortable distance to stop the man from getting behind him again. If he couldn’t get close enough to get a good shot at Brooks face, then he’d try to weaken the man’s punching power. It was a veritable chess game where the pieces were parts of your opponent’s moves. Take enough of them away and it’s an easy win.

Dammit! Another dodge! Sam couldn't believe it, it seemed hopeless, whatever Sam did, Abramson could counter. Although, he had to hand it to him, what a brilliant boxer, Sam will always fight, but to fight against a brilliant fighter was something else. One last tactic, he thought, one last 'wild'card. (Get it? Bear, Wild, sorry really bad pun) Sam backed away from the shots and leaped into the air, assailing onto Abramson, the move was exhausting, draining alot of his remaining strength. Sam extended his left to hit Abramson hard. Sam landed pretty hard and slowly looked up to see Abramson. The result would go one way or another, the gamble worked, or didn't.