AN: While I love the thought that Maxwell is a hundred percent evil and does everything for his own entertainment, a part of me goes: he was human once, wasn't he? Could They have changed his personality that much? Then I thought about it some more and had the idea of what if he wasn't completely evil? What if it was entirely the shadows controlling him through some means, such as pain? And if so, what if that was why Maxwell came out of William? It's easier to bury morals etc and not care for others when the consequences are an eternity of pain. Anyways, that's just my thoughts.

Warnings: A bit AUish. Characters might be a bit OOC.

I've almost completely written this so, hopefully, I will update rapidly.

I don't own Don't Starve/Don't Starve Together or anything associated with it. I don't own the story image either.

Chapter 1

Maxwell didn't know how much time had passed since he'd first come here. He had long ago ceased to care about something such as that. After all, he was bound to this chair for all time. He had nowhere to go. In fact, he couldn't go anywhere. Not without the shadows approval, and they rarely gave it these days. Or was it closer to months? Years? He could no longer tell. There was nothing to mark time here. Not even that damnable gramaphone would stop playing its jaunty tune. Just his slowly slipping insanity and growing lack of caring let him know that time moved at all.

He had stopped wondering about many things that had once mattered to him. Being bound to the Nightmare Throne with nothing but Them for company did that to you. So, when they had demanded he bring that crazy haired scientist into his realm, he had done it without protest and gave just a few parting words to the man,

"Say pal, you don't look so good. You better find something to eat before night comes!"

The scientist, he decided, would not live long. They never did and protests, he learnt, would just mean pain. They had learnt that physical pain was the only thing that affected him now. His heart had long ago frozen over with the loss of Charlie. They used to give him images of Charlie's suffering and remind him that he was the one who sacrificed her to Them in order to become famous. These images no longer affected him. It did not matter to him how Charlie was fairing; if she was alive or dead. In his mind, she was already dead. Dead the minute she succumbed to darkness and became the terror in the dark. At least, that was what he told himself and They believed him. Deep down, however, he knew that wasn't true.

In a way, he was glad that all that made him William per se was buried deep within him long ago. While he and William were, essentially, the same person, he had learnt it was easier to believe they were almost completely separate entities. In fact, it was necessary for his sanity, disregarding the fact that it was not very sane to split one's personality in the first place. William would not have been able to live here long with all of his sensibilities interfering, but, as the uncaring and cruel Maxwell, he could survive… if one could call giving up ones' morals and beliefs survival. Should he ever be allowed to die, he would not be going anywhere pleasant.

At first, it had been exhausting suppressing his feelings. Now… it was second nature and it was because of this ability to separate himself that They decided to keep him permanently instead of killing him outright. Maxwell could do what he was told and not put up any resistance against Them. William's conscious, however, would not allow him to sit idly by, and it was because of Wlliam's bleeding heart that he had ended up in this chair in the first place. What a desperate fool he had been back then...

Maxwell sighed and tried to find a comfortable position within his restraints. At the present moment, it did not appear as if he'd be released anytime soon. The shadows had no sense of time and did not care for his mental wellbeing. It was physically impossible for him to die under their watchful gaze and insanity would only help them further whatever hidden agenda they had.

It was a good thing he had grown accustomed to the dark.

One could almost say he was in a first name basis with it.