Christopher boss

It's 1:23, and the day is winding down on the dark streets of New York. You've just gone to watch your brother head to an illegal boxing match. The same one he's never let you go to. It was so loud there. The entire crowd was screaming at the top of their lungs. When you finally pushed your way through the throng, you saw two boxers in the ring. You recognized one immediately. It's your brother. The brother who's taken care of you for so many years, the one who's gone to your parent-teacher meetings, who's cooked for you, who's worked hard to buy you a jacket: him. Right now, he's not focused on anything else. The only person he's focused on is the brown-haired boxer in red shorts in front of him. You watch in shock as he knocks him out with his final punch. He breathes heavily. His bare, muscular chest glistens with sweat. He carelessly brushes his white hair back with his hand. The referee raises Christopher's arm as a sign of victory. He won.*