I had never wanted this life, it simply was. I did not ask to be a myth, a story told by children, I did what I did for my father, for my family, and to provide the best I could.

My mother passed away when I was very young, and my father, raising us three boys, taught us to be men in order to help survive. It was his way, he did not know anything about children, he knew his work, and this is how we were taught. I worked the coffee plants with my brothers, my hands calloused, taking pleasure from my father's guitar in the evenings and the smell of warm bread in the mornings. I never thought much of my father's coca plants, it was simply work we did to sell and buy chickens, gasoline, and other necessities of life.

My father wanted me to be a good man, and I did my service with Ejercito Nacional like every other boy when I turned 18, hoping to simply return to my father. It was here I got my hard schooling. We would spend weeks in the hills, attempting to stop coca and cocaine production, but it was a rouse. Our commander was paid by the dealers, and we lived in fear of what the cartel was capable of. I could tell you where not to look, and that was enough.

I had made a friend, Morena, who's father was a cartel member. He trusted me, perhaps because I had not been corrupted against corruption, that I looked at things simply, and because I did not talk much. They teased me for this, I preferred to observe and to think, like my years on the farm, to simply do without much discussion. Morena saw the value and integrity in this. I stayed with his family in their lavish house during my breaks from service.

His anger, his rage, it fueled him to a cult status in the underground fighting world. He was lavished with gifts and money, none of which mattered. All that mattered, was finding the one with the lighter. The one with the heavy brass knuckles and the knife. The one that took his tongue as a trophy.

It was two years later, my father, and our farm, destroyed by the Armada Nacional in a carpet bombing of a few hectacres of coca. They had taken out a large bunker, as well as my family. I do not enjoy sharing such things, but it is what made me who I am so I must, hm? I was still young then, and the Morena family became my family, and I became a brother. Even with my other brothers, dispersed and on their own travels, I was able to have a family.

This is how I learned of cocaine. How I came to have a healthy respect for its power and knowledge of how to use it to obtain such power. The Morena family, looking back, channelled my rage, and I became a willing cartel member. For my 24th birthday the Morena's presented me with a guitar, like my fathers. It is how I comfort myself in times of trouble.

As time went by I became more and more adept and less of the student. I had men loyal to me, I controlled sections of the business, and as my new father passed, and the son took control, I did not hesitate to slit his throat. It was mine, and always would be. Do I believe I am evil? I do not believe in evil, or good, but simply doing. I would take care of my family

I had many working for me, many feared me, many adored the wealth I brought to them. I became known as Magnicida, the assassin. My hands drenched in blood. Stories of my stone face and attentive manor, of being quick and suprising, by simply doing after observing.

She was the daughter of one of my workers. One who did not respect the cocaine, who abused it, abused my power, my wealth. Her family was a friend to my family. I had vowed to care for her, and her daughter, as she grew older. I hugged her and she called me hermano. she told me she loved me and how I had treated them. And I slit her throat too. I watched her bleed out on my living room floor. It was simply business. Lilliana however, was my obligation, and she had always been my sobrina. As she filled out, my guardianship became something more. She was referred to by my cartel as the princess. she did not know what I had done to her mother, I had her endless love, and I planned on keeping her happy. -Cesar