Counterpunch Direct

The dim lights of the "Broken Rib" gym hummed with the smell of old leather and stale sweat. Inside the ring, Elias "The Ghost" Thorne danced. He wasn’t a heavy hitter; he was a surgeon.

"Time to pack up, Ghost," Vane sneered. "The momentum is all mine." Counterpunch

"That’s the thing about a counterpunch," Elias’s trainer, Pops, whispered from the corner. "It’s not about being stronger. It’s about letting the other guy’s momentum do the work for you." The dim lights of the "Broken Rib" gym