Who is Maxwell Dane?
Who is Maxwell Dane?
Who is Maxwell Dane?
Who is Maxwell Dane?
Who is Maxwell Dane?
Who is Maxwell Dane?
Who are you?

Wake up
Open your eyes and see what’s in front of you
Most will never see--> THEIR TRUTH
Walking hand in hand together
Only we
Can save the world

Déjà vu: The feeling that something is happening all over again, whether or not it's true. *~* What a *~* *~* piece of work *~* *~* is man *~* *^* Hector Cabrera wakes up to find himself strapped down to a table in a one room schoolhouse, looking up at Maxwell and I. Finally. He opens his mouth to scream but Maxwell stops him by covering the poor shmuck's mouth with one of his paws. Hector thrashes around on the table, trying desperately to free himself of his restraints. Quite futile, if you ask me. Though I guess you could forgive him for thinking there was anything even remotely resembling solace standing outside this room. See, I happen to know that even if he were to get free, and somehow if he managed to snatch one of the instruments in this room and use it to kill both Maxwell and I, he'd still have to deal with Voodoo and three armed guards whose names and faces I didn't care enough to remember. Something tells me that course of action is very unlikely. "I want you to think before you do anything else, Hector," Maxwell says in that oh so soothing voice of his.... the one that whispers "I'll kill you when you're no longer useful" rather than screams it. Hector, his mouth still eclipsed by the purple furred hand of my employer, nods furiously, shooting glances at both him and myself, begging, pleading for mercy. Problem is, I don't feel very merciful. Never have. Just not in my genes. Especially not when it's approximately as hot as Hell. "Now Hector, I'm going to ask you nicely. ¿Dónde está el Che Guevara?" This is the part of the plan I don't get at all. Maxwell already knows the answer to this question. He's known it from the start. Hell, if he really wanted to, he could've skipped all of this and gone right to the date of Che's execution. Yet here we are, getting ready to cut open some poor farmer, or herder, or whatever this fucking guy was before he got all buddy-buddy with the Notorious C.H.E. Not that I'm complaining. Maxwell finally takes his hand off our friend's mouth and, predictably the first thing he does is scream his head off. Something in Spanish which makes me kind of wish I'd paid attention in Spanish class. "Wrong answer," I whisper before slamming my fist down on his gut. A burst of air escapes his mouth and coughs loudly, trying inbetween coughs to gasp for air. My fingers tighten around the scalpel in my other hand. A smile creeps across my face. I look away from poor helpless Hector and towards Maxwell with puppy dog eyes and he nods. "Show me his palms." Maxwell grabs Hector's right hand, and lays it palm up. I raise the scalpel, and I swear for every inch I do, Hector's eyes get wider and wider. The look on his face becomes more and more hopeless. I think he's starting to catch on. He bangs both hands on the table and yells once more. "Puede detener este." Tears well up in the man's eyes. Wimp. I place my hand on his wrist and let the scalpel hover just an inch or two above his index finger. A tear rolls down his cheek just before I drag the blade down his finger. He screams, louder than he has previously, as the blade slices through flesh and muscle. Music to my ears. Blood begins to pump out of the cut, a beautiful crimson wave that leaks down the sides of his fat finger, onto the wooden table under him. I look at the red stained blade of the scalpel and grin. My grip on his wrist tightens and take the blade and start to slice up the fingertip of the wounded finger. It's a thing of beauty. Each motion I make forces him to scream and cry louder and louder. His face is as red as his hand now, his cheeks drenched by a stream of tears and sweat. But to his credit, he hasn't given up. I look down at the mangled heap of flesh and gore that is his right index finger and giggle. "You know, Maxwell, I think my hand's getting a little tired of holding him down. Is there anything else we have for that?" He hears my request and obliges, handing me a hammer and a nail. I press the nail into the palm of Hector's hand and ready the hammer. "Por favor!" he yelps as I bring the hammer down, driving the nail further into his hand. "¿Dónde está el Che Guevara?" I strike the nail once more, forcing another wail to escape Hector's lips. "La Higuera!" Hector finally exclaims, sobbing. Maxwell whistles, and in steps Voodoo Pizzaman who takes one look at the state poor Hector's in and glares at me. "Thank you for all your help, Mister Cabrera." This is what Maxwell's real good at. Lulling people into a false sense of security. Hector sighs in relief, though his breathing is ragged. He never even expects Voodoo to put a gun against his skull. I can see it in his eyes when it happens, the look of betrayal and hurt and most frustratingly, more fear than he showed the whole time I was going to town on him. Then Voodoo pulls the trigger. Goodnight, Hector Cabrera. Hello again, goodbye again. "Oh, Dim. It would seem we're destined to face off with one another, seeing as you're the first man I've faced more than once. Or, at the very least we're destined to figure out once and for all who the better man is. Considering our last match ended with neither of us involved in the finish, that's a bit of a toss up. Because, that's the nature of this business. Anyone can beat anyone on any given night. However, things just haven't been on your side as of late, have they? You suffer a huge loss, losing your X-Treme Championship, which the history buffs will remember was the title yourself, Pest, Rellik, and I were fighting for Number One Contendership status for in our first encounter. And you lose it to Trax, a man you've been berating for his ethnicity since practically his arrival. But, let's not dwell on those shortcomings. Let's focus on this match. The one where you'll fail once again to capture a win. Because, in my little sabbatical, I've come back refreshed. And it should be noted that even before the break, I've never been defeated. Pest pinned Rellik. I lost that match but I wasn't defeated. But that's neither here nor there. I don't have to debate semantics because Dim's going to keep on going on this downward spiral. He's going to circle the drain for a little while and possibly he'll shoot back up with a new fire. But that's not happening on Wednesday. So, allow me to turn my attention to the XWF at large. I'd like to issue a statement to you all. No threats or anything like that. Just a single, simple declaration. I'm back. Your hero, your engel is back. And I am not abandoning my mission to save all of you. Though, I guess I haven't made that part quite clear. That my mission here involves something bigger than petty feuds or anything like that. I am here to save you. Salvation through destruction, if it comes to it. But, before it gets there, I urge you. Think about how much better you'd look as one of us rather than one of them. And make your choice wisely." The lines haven’t even begun to blur.

Return, whence you came




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