- Location
- Singapore
Knife o kinesis
-
For all readers and writers
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Wormverse ideas, recs, and fic discussion thread 1
- Thread starter Yog
- Start date
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Continuing on my 'I watched The Wire' imagine an alternate universe where Danny was forced (perhaps with threats) into helping smuggling operations as a Dockworker[1], and paid for it (partially to keep him loyal, and partially because then if he tells the police, he's an accomplice selling out his partners, rather than an upstanding citizen), and then Taylor somehow discovered this.
[1] He'd be well placed for it, frankly. The Dockworkers probably don't do a lot of business, that's sorta the point, but all it takes is losing a can [Shipping Container] or two that just *happens* to be filled with drugs or guns or whatever...
[1] He'd be well placed for it, frankly. The Dockworkers probably don't do a lot of business, that's sorta the point, but all it takes is losing a can [Shipping Container] or two that just *happens* to be filled with drugs or guns or whatever...
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- Pronouns
- Yes
The later, pretty much, although I must admit "knifo-kinesis to be slashy at range" is a...unique description.
foldimort
Say Moosey Fate
- Location
- UK
If I lived in Worm I'd get a job at the PRT, writing up villain dossiers.
- Location
- The Great Beyond
I don't think it's made entirely clear. My read has always been more like the first three panels of this webcomic strip, that the knife actually hits but it doesn't stretch, he folds space or something.
10.6 said:
Here is the initial explanation we get of his power, for reference.
Darchias
Pokemon Professor
- Location
- Texas
He isn't morphing the metal so it appears to cross the room, no. The extension is quite invisible. More importantly, one of the reasons his power is so good is that he can use a small, fragile, but very sharp knife to great effect since his power doesn't dull the blade. Still, size and mass is probably a factor, which is why he uses a broadsword and Hookwolf later on.
foldimort
Say Moosey Fate
- Location
- UK
Part three of the Worm/The Question crossover 'QUERY', which I'm getting a more and more solid idea about.
1 :: 2 ::
1 :: 2 ::
QUERY. 3
The Tattletale angle was a bust. My source had told me she was a free agent, maybe even the leader of her gang, but she'd torn that theory up when she'd mentioned her boss. I didn't know if it was a genuine slip, or if she was playing me. For all I knew she'd designed the whole conversation to steer me in the direction I was going now, but I couldn't start second guessing myself. If I really was that deeply tangled in her web, then I was trapped no matter what I did.
There was something else, something nagging at me. I'd seen something in her eyes when I'd mentioned the game being run in the mayor's office. There'd been a spark of recognition, maybe even fear. She'd made a connection that I'd missed, and it led to something that scared her. She might even know who was behind the state of the city, but who? What thread had she followed, where had it led?
It could have been the Empire Eighty Eight gang, the local neo-nazi chapter. They were organised enough, well funded, and had the connections to pull it off, but I couldn't see my way through to their motive. All out war between the Merchants, Empire and ABB would do irreparable harm to all of them.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the Empire had a secret weapon—someone who could even stand up to Lung, but if that was it, why not go for a pre-emptive strike? Why the long game? That wasn't the Empire's style. I was looking for a lower-case-t thinker, someone who liked to play chess with people's lives.
There was only one other group whose roots ran deep enough to manage a manipulation this long and this complex. A hive of inefficiency, bureaucracy, and pandering stuffed suits, led by woman who might have been just bloody-minded enough to try something like this. I swore I'd never come back, but this particular mountain wouldn't come to Muhammad.
I walked up to the front desk, drawing stares and making the guards edgy. The tourists in the lobby were shooting glances, probably thought I was a cape. The foam turrets were tracking me, probably thought I was dangerous. The receptionist was staring at me with perfect professionalism, she probably thought I was a hero. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
"Hello," I said, smiling through the false-skin of my mask. "I'd like to speak with Director Piggot."
The woman kept her calm admirably. I almost wondered if she was a robot. "And who should I say wants an appointment?"
"That's The Question," I said. I suppressed a smile at the joke. It was self indulgent, my little vice.
Her expression wavered then, confusion. I didn't speak, she didn't deserve for this to be easy. I had no memory of this woman in particular, but I knew the type: confident, aspirational, driven, and completely ruthless in pursuing her career. She may have only been a receptionist now, but she saw it as a stepping stone to a higher place in the bureaucracy, and woe to anyone who got in her way, or made her look bad.
"Please take a seat," she said politely.
I politely acquiesced. The waiting area was off to the side of the lobby, with plastic chairs and a table of magazines. I picked one up, it had a picture of Armsmaster on the front.
"Are you a hero!?"
I turned to look. A little boy was sitting next to me, maybe eleven or twelve.
"No. Just someone who asks a lot of questions."
"Like what?" He asked, spinning on the chair to face me, cross-legged.
I looked around for his mother, who was absent. Children his age shouldn't be left alone.
"Like why the PRT looks more like a public relations operation than a crime-fighting body," I said, idly scanning the waiting area for microphones. "Like why a fifth of the personnel in this building have media or marketing degrees and no police qualifications. Like why, in four years of serious parahuman gang violence, nobody in this building has made any move on the villains' civilian identities, or pursued any of their purely human criminal interests."
"Ooh," the boy said. The kid's eyes roved desperately to the magazine in my hand. "Armsmaster's my favourite hero!"
I looked down at the glossy photo. "Did you ever wonder why his helmet leaves his mouth uncovered?" The boy shook his head. "Theory: his teeth have been replaced with microtechnology which reads human thoughts. Possibility: the technology uses his mouth as a resonance chamber to detect and amplify sub-vocalisations."
"Cool!"
A man cleared his throat to my left. "Actually it's to make me less intimidating to the public." Armsmaster. He'd arrived so quickly he must already have been in the building. I probably wouldn't rate a visit from the local Protectorate head otherwise.
I stood to face the hero, silently forming words in the back of my throat. "[That might work on them. I know the truth.]"
Armsmaster did nothing to give away his unique sensory equipment. "I got a call that a new cape showed up and asked to speak with the director. Protocol for prospective heroes is to speak with a Protectorate representative."
"That's not why I'm here. I need to ask the director some questions."
"An interview? Who are you working for?"
"No one. I'm investigating a crime that I believe the director might be involved in, or is tacitly allowing to continue."
Armsmaster stared at me for a moment. "You're telling the truth."
"[Always.]"
"The director's busy. If you're willing, you and I can talk for a few minutes."
I nodded and dropped the magazine. I'd come for the director, I wanted to look her in the eye when I asked the question, but that didn't look like it was happening. The local Protectorate leader was a good enough runner-up prize. There were questions I'd been saving for him as well.
Armsmaster turned and started to lead me towards where I knew the ground-floor interview rooms were.
"Wait. You need to find someone to look after the kid."
Armsmaster turned and tilted his head to look behind me. "What kid?"
I turned. The waiting area was empty. "My mistake. His mother must have found him. Lead on."
Armsmaster led me down a narrow corridor, and into one of the small, cold rooms where witnesses, victims and sometimes even unpowered criminals were interviewed. The rooms had a unique, unforgettable smell. Some faint combination of ammonia from the concealed containment foam capsules, and vending machine coffee. Being back in the cramped room was like being thrown back in time, and I could almost feel the lock engage as the door closed. It felt different now that I was on the other side of the table. I imagined the unmanageable weight of stupidity pressing down on me from the floors above, and shivered at the thought of being at the mercy of a building full of near-fascist bureaucrats.
"All right," Armsmaster said, settling back into the steel chair. "Start from the beginning. Tell me what you think you know."
"You're not ready for what I know, but I will tell you about the house of cards being built on Captain's Hill."
The Tattletale angle was a bust. My source had told me she was a free agent, maybe even the leader of her gang, but she'd torn that theory up when she'd mentioned her boss. I didn't know if it was a genuine slip, or if she was playing me. For all I knew she'd designed the whole conversation to steer me in the direction I was going now, but I couldn't start second guessing myself. If I really was that deeply tangled in her web, then I was trapped no matter what I did.
There was something else, something nagging at me. I'd seen something in her eyes when I'd mentioned the game being run in the mayor's office. There'd been a spark of recognition, maybe even fear. She'd made a connection that I'd missed, and it led to something that scared her. She might even know who was behind the state of the city, but who? What thread had she followed, where had it led?
It could have been the Empire Eighty Eight gang, the local neo-nazi chapter. They were organised enough, well funded, and had the connections to pull it off, but I couldn't see my way through to their motive. All out war between the Merchants, Empire and ABB would do irreparable harm to all of them.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the Empire had a secret weapon—someone who could even stand up to Lung, but if that was it, why not go for a pre-emptive strike? Why the long game? That wasn't the Empire's style. I was looking for a lower-case-t thinker, someone who liked to play chess with people's lives.
There was only one other group whose roots ran deep enough to manage a manipulation this long and this complex. A hive of inefficiency, bureaucracy, and pandering stuffed suits, led by woman who might have been just bloody-minded enough to try something like this. I swore I'd never come back, but this particular mountain wouldn't come to Muhammad.
I walked up to the front desk, drawing stares and making the guards edgy. The tourists in the lobby were shooting glances, probably thought I was a cape. The foam turrets were tracking me, probably thought I was dangerous. The receptionist was staring at me with perfect professionalism, she probably thought I was a hero. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
"Hello," I said, smiling through the false-skin of my mask. "I'd like to speak with Director Piggot."
The woman kept her calm admirably. I almost wondered if she was a robot. "And who should I say wants an appointment?"
"That's The Question," I said. I suppressed a smile at the joke. It was self indulgent, my little vice.
Her expression wavered then, confusion. I didn't speak, she didn't deserve for this to be easy. I had no memory of this woman in particular, but I knew the type: confident, aspirational, driven, and completely ruthless in pursuing her career. She may have only been a receptionist now, but she saw it as a stepping stone to a higher place in the bureaucracy, and woe to anyone who got in her way, or made her look bad.
"Please take a seat," she said politely.
I politely acquiesced. The waiting area was off to the side of the lobby, with plastic chairs and a table of magazines. I picked one up, it had a picture of Armsmaster on the front.
"Are you a hero!?"
I turned to look. A little boy was sitting next to me, maybe eleven or twelve.
"No. Just someone who asks a lot of questions."
"Like what?" He asked, spinning on the chair to face me, cross-legged.
I looked around for his mother, who was absent. Children his age shouldn't be left alone.
"Like why the PRT looks more like a public relations operation than a crime-fighting body," I said, idly scanning the waiting area for microphones. "Like why a fifth of the personnel in this building have media or marketing degrees and no police qualifications. Like why, in four years of serious parahuman gang violence, nobody in this building has made any move on the villains' civilian identities, or pursued any of their purely human criminal interests."
"Ooh," the boy said. The kid's eyes roved desperately to the magazine in my hand. "Armsmaster's my favourite hero!"
I looked down at the glossy photo. "Did you ever wonder why his helmet leaves his mouth uncovered?" The boy shook his head. "Theory: his teeth have been replaced with microtechnology which reads human thoughts. Possibility: the technology uses his mouth as a resonance chamber to detect and amplify sub-vocalisations."
"Cool!"
A man cleared his throat to my left. "Actually it's to make me less intimidating to the public." Armsmaster. He'd arrived so quickly he must already have been in the building. I probably wouldn't rate a visit from the local Protectorate head otherwise.
I stood to face the hero, silently forming words in the back of my throat. "[That might work on them. I know the truth.]"
Armsmaster did nothing to give away his unique sensory equipment. "I got a call that a new cape showed up and asked to speak with the director. Protocol for prospective heroes is to speak with a Protectorate representative."
"That's not why I'm here. I need to ask the director some questions."
"An interview? Who are you working for?"
"No one. I'm investigating a crime that I believe the director might be involved in, or is tacitly allowing to continue."
Armsmaster stared at me for a moment. "You're telling the truth."
"[Always.]"
"The director's busy. If you're willing, you and I can talk for a few minutes."
I nodded and dropped the magazine. I'd come for the director, I wanted to look her in the eye when I asked the question, but that didn't look like it was happening. The local Protectorate leader was a good enough runner-up prize. There were questions I'd been saving for him as well.
Armsmaster turned and started to lead me towards where I knew the ground-floor interview rooms were.
"Wait. You need to find someone to look after the kid."
Armsmaster turned and tilted his head to look behind me. "What kid?"
I turned. The waiting area was empty. "My mistake. His mother must have found him. Lead on."
Armsmaster led me down a narrow corridor, and into one of the small, cold rooms where witnesses, victims and sometimes even unpowered criminals were interviewed. The rooms had a unique, unforgettable smell. Some faint combination of ammonia from the concealed containment foam capsules, and vending machine coffee. Being back in the cramped room was like being thrown back in time, and I could almost feel the lock engage as the door closed. It felt different now that I was on the other side of the table. I imagined the unmanageable weight of stupidity pressing down on me from the floors above, and shivered at the thought of being at the mercy of a building full of near-fascist bureaucrats.
"All right," Armsmaster said, settling back into the steel chair. "Start from the beginning. Tell me what you think you know."
"You're not ready for what I know, but I will tell you about the house of cards being built on Captain's Hill."
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- Location
- italy
This continues to be excellent.
The creepily normal kid was a high point for me, especially since I kept (and still am) wondering whether he was positioned there by Contessa, whether he was a Stranger, or if the Question just hallucinated him. When, almost certainly, he was just a normal kid who hid from Armsmaster because he was shy.
I think that's what makes a cross with The Question so compelling (keeping in mind I've never actually read The Question): between Thinkers, Strangers and Masters any ludicrously impossible conspiracy theory can be true.
And knowing Worm, it IS true.
(Even if for frankly retarded reasons- Teacher 's "I killed the Vice President so I could see what would happen, or maybe I was framed, trololol-comes to mind)
- Location
- Wherever
Honestly, the silly wand thing illustrates my point perfectly well -it's exactly the kind of thing that would go a long way to root out Calvert/Costa-Brown-style corruption, and it doesn't really matter whether the wand is practicable as non-tinkertech or not because Alexandria can't afford to let such a thing become widespread.
All right, add 5 years or so to my dates. (Doesn't affect things much -"instant hyper-apocalypse" was deliberate hyperbole to illustrate that he original statement was questionable) Glad my 1987 date isn't completely made up though -just based on the wrong thing.
It's never explicitly spelled out and some of the descriptions are agonizingly ambiguous, but overall writing indicates that he's "projecting" the kinetic energy of a swing, while the blade he's holding is physically unaffected.
Though we also get the painful inconsistency that he needs to swing blades to make the effect work... and then when he rides on Hookwolf, he can just make Hookwolf constantly project cuts in flagrant contradiction of this limitation. Consistency!
It's not just that the blade won't dull -it's that it won't catch or skip off. A real blade doesn't generally swing into and through someone or something as a single clean motion -momentum is lost until eventually you're not cutting at all, or depending on the nature of the swing and the target being hit, possibly the blade will kick away partway through the swing. Jack Slash swiping a knife at a crowd doesn't bleed all its momentum on the first person in the crowd and require him to restart the swing -he smoothly applies cuts to everyone he hits with the effect.
Re: the broadsword
Alas, we never get anything resembling a real explanation of what that brought to the table. Does having a longer blade make his projected cuts go deeper? Does having a heavier blade let him cut through harder materials more readily?
Worse, since Jack is in full-on theatrical mode, it's not actually the case that we can assume there's an actual mechanical benefit!
He may simply have done it to cut a more dramatic figure.
- Location
- Montreal, Quebec
I always thought he was able to project his blades?
That he could " broadcast" his hands or anything he held in them?
That he could " broadcast" his hands or anything he held in them?
Sithking Zero
High Priest of the First Church of The Deputy
- Location
- Here
I thought it was only blades, but that makes me have a very funny idea of Jack misplacing his knife and being late to murder a town, so he grabs the first thing he can find... and it's a wiffle bat.
*soft thud*
Civilian: Ow! That was mildly annoying!
Jack: Yes, let me drink in your fear!
Civilian: ... You're not trying anymore are you?
Jack: *swinging madly* CUT DAMN YOU!
Civilian: Hey, that doesn't feel too bad, can you get my upper back?
Shatterbird: Jack... I think maybe you should sit this one out.
Jack: SHUT UP!
FinalPyre
Ennui Engine
I made a post about Jack somewhere not too long ago that might have some useful quotes... Ah. Copied from Harbin's Cutting Ties on SB, with slight edits:
Time for some Jack Facts.
I seem to recall him having a very long range. I don't expect we ever get exact number, but I could find in a 2min search was this:
Maybe also worth noting that they express serious concern at (as opposed to immediately dismissing) the idea that he might somehow cut the planet in half. This of course is likely to be largely a product of his reputation of being a Bad Dude, but it is initially Tattletale that suggests it, and is only shot down by the super-precog.
If Jack had a closer range or one that was dependent on the size/type of weapon he was using -- even if he tried to obfuscate it -- after all these years I'd expect there to be some solid data on his limitations. If there is no known limitation, it implies to me that his range is generally far enough that it isn't really a factor to care about. It's just "far". If he can see you, he can cut you.
Might also be worth noting that it is at least implied that the sharpness of the blade matters, and unless this is just Jack being showy, indicates to me that a larger blade equates to more blade to project (more cut per swing).
This chapter also shows he's not limited to one blade at a time in the slightest:
----------------
Time for some Jack Facts.
I seem to recall him having a very long range. I don't expect we ever get exact number, but I could find in a 2min search was this:
Jack can use his power with stabbing motions too. His range is at least far enough that he can act like a sniper.14.07 said:
So Jack's range is at least a "horrendously long distance."10.6 said:
Maybe also worth noting that they express serious concern at (as opposed to immediately dismissing) the idea that he might somehow cut the planet in half. This of course is likely to be largely a product of his reputation of being a Bad Dude, but it is initially Tattletale that suggests it, and is only shot down by the super-precog.
If Jack had a closer range or one that was dependent on the size/type of weapon he was using -- even if he tried to obfuscate it -- after all these years I'd expect there to be some solid data on his limitations. If there is no known limitation, it implies to me that his range is generally far enough that it isn't really a factor to care about. It's just "far". If he can see you, he can cut you.
Might also be worth noting that it is at least implied that the sharpness of the blade matters, and unless this is just Jack being showy, indicates to me that a larger blade equates to more blade to project (more cut per swing).
Part of this is just to have a sword that Golem can't use his power on, but unless this is purely for show, having a big-ass super-sharp sword also plays better with Jack's power.26.a said:
This chapter also shows he's not limited to one blade at a time in the slightest:
26.a said:
----------------
I see no inconsistency here.
Hookwolf can move all his blades like a blender. Jack puts his power through the blades, and the blades are being swung.8.5 said:
More showing of Jackwolf in action. Also much stronger evidence that the quality of the blade Jack is using and how hard it is being swung matters.Interlude 26b said:
Sithking Zero
High Priest of the First Church of The Deputy
- Location
- Here
Still.
Jack Slash.
Wiffle Bat.
Hilarious.
Jack Slash.
Wiffle Bat.
Hilarious.
- Location
- West Michigan
Better yet, imagine a setting rewrite in which the Major Crimes Unit vs. Barksdale/Greek/New Day/Stanfield Crew type of conflict takes precedence over cape fights... but they all still have powers.
The slow-burn investigation of Coil - with actual stakeouts! - in Cenotaph was the absolute best part of the fic IMO and something that has very rarely been attempted since.
- Location
- Here
The Question vs Tattletale. There needs to be a round two because that was far too much fun.
- Location
- Mandaluyong City
So more-or-less Sword Beams but way less destructive and flashy, but that actually makes them more versatile right?
Gotta wonder if he could do something like this.
- Location
- Montreal, Quebec
I enjoyed the Wire series, but I prefer the Ghost in the shell series more because even though the system is corrupt, the heroes are expandable pawns in the war on crime and the bad guys are replaceable.... but at least the real bad guys get what they deserved.
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munchkinomatic
Douchiest of Bags
- Location
- The land of Skepticism
I have a question, just how scary is Mannequin? Compared to all other S9 members, I feel like he's the weakest. Compared to hax like Bonesaw's bio-hax, Crawler's adapto-hax, Siberian's lolnope-hax, and Jackslash's social-hax, I don't see anything that terrifying from him.
foldimort
Say Moosey Fate
- Location
- UK
Razor sharp wit
Now I can't stop seeing Cedric Daniels playing Coil.
Let's add Jack Otaku to the Jack Slash AU list. He has spiky hair and carries around a massive sword.
I find Mannequin to not be the scariest member of the S9 in terms of what he can do, but I found him the scariest in terms of what he is. There's this scene in Interlude 25:
It really put me into Mannequin's head when I first read it, and the thought of my fondest wish being to just get bricked up in a wall somewhere and forgotten about made me really uncomfortable. That's a horror story for most people, but for Alan Gramme being entombed alive is his happy ending.
After he went crazy, he still had to deal with living exposed in this vast world beneath an infinite sky, so he literally cut out each of his organs and imprisoned them in plastic. We think 'cyborg', but that's not how he experiences it at all. When you look at not-very-scary-Mannequin walking around, you're looking at someone who spends every minute of the day buried alive, and loves it.
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- Location
- Mandaluyong City
He should have just killed himself. Continuing as he did was spitting on the memory of his family.
munchkinomatic
Douchiest of Bags
- Location
- The land of Skepticism
Well, yes, there's no doubt that's his very existence is nightmarish. It's just that he seems so out of place amidst the Nine, whose members are otherwise very terrifying in capabilities.
When I first read through it, the Nine gave me the impression of this scary group of individuals, each very powerful and can affect the entire the city with their power. Then we have Mannequin, who's just...a slasher film killer kinda guy, with some tinker tricks thrown in.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Though we'd/the author would have to work out how it'd work. It'd basically be a reworking of the entire setting. Maybe draw the attention from the cape fights? Like, a world where a larger portion of parahumans never put on a pair of tights?
Speaking of Coil, the key to tearing him apart would be to have slow-burn effects. Like, if he's in a world where he's being wiretapped either way, but doesn't know the consequences until a month later, then nothing he can do is a winning move because he doesn't know what the other side is doing.
As long as, you know, they can keep from tipping him off like a dumbass.
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foldimort
Say Moosey Fate
- Location
- UK
I can see that. Kind of a Wormverse Akatsuki, minus the grand plan. Expostfacto, we can look at the current and past members of the Nine and say there are a bunch of "and I must scream" spooky types, like Chuckles and Mannequin, who probably couldn't do massive damage but were just scary in their own right. There were also members who were horrifying in concept, like Skinslip. But like you said, that's not how they're introduced. He does seem lacking and out of place in the initial S9 arc.
I do wonder if he might have been capable of city-scale destruction if he put his mind to it though. Pre-Mannequin, he was a large scale habitat tinker. Maybe he could throw a city into an Under The Dome situation, or create hidden geoengineering machines to de-terraform the planet, or go to heavily inhabited cities and shout "moon base" really loud to attract the Simurgh. He just didn't have the ambition, time, or resources to really get a good policide going.
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