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.