Like the stampeding hoofs of a thousand horses, the chain rained down. Relentless, methodical. The hand, clad in black layered leather and riveted titanium plates, worked it s brutal magic. At once ethereally united with the chain, yet somehow distant. Clearly it had purpose, blow after well placed blow would attest to that, yet it lacked any sense of conscious or remorse. This was not personal, not like it had been before, this had become routine-a task to be accomplished, a check box on a to-do list. Clearly this hand, this glove had done this before, and clearly it would do it again. A different time, a different place, same result. The TiMax Original Glove by Icon-A legacy of brutality.