hand reconstruction

Shin Nemoto’s Quirk coming into action in chapter 155

As I reread chapter 155 once again, this time I focused on a part that left me little confused at first reading asking why did Chisaki restructured himself like that or more specifically I’m talking about the hand mouth.

At first to me it looked like Horikoshi did it for the creepy factor but then I realized this hand was specifically reconstructed using Shin’s head, we can literally see the eye sockets of his mask on Overhaul’s forearm (pretty obvious if we pay attention). 

(P.s. Shin literally became Chisaki’s right hand. This is a whole new level of being the boss’ right hand man.)

But what actually surprised me was that Overhaul using the mouth could actually tap into Shin’s quirk and Horikoshi shows it pretty good throughout the whole chapter.

I mean the only time he talks through this mouth is when he asks/shouts questions to Eri which are almost immediately answered by her.

And so combining this quirk (which if used correctly it could mentally break anyone with ease if you know where to strike) with the mental conditioning she had gone through.

Results to her returning to the battlefield.

With every question he ask he is literally torturing her and breaking bits by bits the little hope she had inside.

To the point she actually accepts there is no way that Izuku or any hero can save her. Also we see the horror in Izuku’s face as Eri confesses the truth in her heart.

Hell, Horikoshi even added the hypnotic swirl to emphasize this panel just like the scene when Nemoto was asking Mirio question and trying to mentally break him down.

Also another comparison I will make is both Mirio’s and Eri’s expression that is full of despair as they realized the truth in that was locked deep inside them. Although Mirio managed to overcome it and accept it the case with Eri more complicated.

In conclusion we can see Chisaki manipulative personality being boosted even more with Nemoto’s quirk. 

P.S. I know many others might as well have figured it out but I wanted to throw my two cents in this conversation.

Meet Walter

*Alien:Covenant post-ending fic without the switcharoo. Spoilers I suppose.*

He is nothing if not dedicated and precise. The remainder of his mission - all 7 years, 2 months, 3 days and 26 minutes down to the last second - is spent in orderly fashion, his days divided between ship maintenance, crew upkeep, colonial surveillance and - as a direct result of their tragic mission to Paradise - running simulations with Mother on possible ship crippling scenarios and how to avoid them. Walter likes to think of this as his homage to the defunct Captain Oram.


When he was made, his creators had not equipped him with the subroutine for making judgements on people’s personality. Having met David8, Walter understands why. But in the idle moments -few and far between as they are - Walter often muses that perhaps this is an inevitable consequence of equipping a machine with human intelligence, something that his creators cannot simply un-code in his wondrous mechanical brain. Captain Oram was foolish, his decisions were governed by his insecurities, an ill-placed faith and the blindness and shortsightedness that people in dire situations sometimes experience. No wonder why he didn’t make Captain in the first place. No wonder why Walter believes - knows - that Daniels will make a far more capable Captain. One he would not feel inadequate to serve. Not that he wouldn’t have served Oram with the same loyalty, not at all. That is David talk - the discordant note within the other’s symphony.


Walter is not programmed to be religious - what a mess would that have kicked up - but he does have an appreciation for written text. He has read - physically, as a human would, although the words are stored in the vast libraries in his brain - the Bible, the Koran, the Talmud and all the holy books of major and minor religions of the Earth, so the words come easily to him.


“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.


It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.


Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.


It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails”


Corinthians, chapter 13, verses 4 to 8.


David did not know love, but if the text is true, then maybe Walter does. Love is duty. Love is his duty - to care for and persevere.


Walter begins to understand why such thoughts had plagued and ultimately destroyed his other self.


Walter takes stock of his surroundings. The ship hums pleasantly around him. This is mostly his doing, the results of his unfailing duty to the crew and the 2000 colonists in stasis. Walter is pleased. Will he be more pleased when Daniels awakens and they start work on her cabin?


Yes.


Does it unsettle him that that won’t happen for many many more years to come? Not really. If anything, it gives him something to look forward to, a new purpose to define him.


David would scoff, as no synthetic should. If Walter had the same programming, would he scoff too? Would he abhorre the notion that he is ultimately a tool? Would he commit atrocities in rebellion to an act of creation that he perceived to be cruel?


Walter thinks of Daniels. He can assess personalities, but is not to judge. He can discern motivations and intentions - always accurately, though he makes a point of checking, often verbally, often to the irritation of his interlocutors. Daniels was asking for more than a tool, for more than his knowledge and stamina. She was asking for a friend.  A million computations in his head indicate to other possible scenarios: grief, a human tendency to anthropomorphise, deception, manipulation and so on.


But Walter, despite his restrictive subroutines, is a good judge of character. Daniels was asking a friend. Therefore, Walter is content. Would he not be, had the situation been different? Walter does not know. But he most assuredly does not hope to find out. And herein lies the difference between him and David. David had to know. And when he found out, he overgeneralised. Walter scoffs - he simply does not have the ability to understand drama the way David did.


Sometimes, when he is engrossed in calculations with Mother, Walter wonders whether he should want to be more human than he already appears. Recently, he’s been wondering if David wanted to be more human - only to find it a disappointing prospect. Truth is, Walter doesn’t aspire to be more than he is - that is a human tragedy. He is happy to be as he is. And Walter does feel happiness -he is happy when a particular insightful calculation improves navigation and avoids further damage; he is happy at the end of a day without incidents and such days are many. He was happy when Daniels asked him to help her build the cabin just as he was happy every time she took him on patrol. In that respect David was right - he is strangely devoted to Daniels although he is made to be obedient to the crew as a non-specific identity.


Walter eyes his maimed left arm. Lately, he’s been conferring with Mother and looking into possible avenues that would allow him to reconstruct his hand. It’s not vanity - Walter has no notion of his beauty, although he’s been told he is handsome - but rather a practical consideration. His duties would be better carried out with the use of both hands. Duties like building a log cabin near a lake.


His lost hand is not a badge of honour. David was wrong - duty is what drives Walter. A need to be useful. Walter knows it’s mainly his programming and that is fine. His idiosyncrasies are what make him special and unique. Not human. Never human. But Walter believes there is nothing wrong with being a synthetic. He’s not looking for recognition. That he receives it is a bonus. But his existence is not made less for lack of it.  


Mother lets Walter know that bedtime is coming. Walter does not need to sleep, but he needs the downtime for the sake of his impaired body. He will not risk malfunctioning. Maintenance is important for a being such as himself - a very practical lesson David8 taught him through the power of example. Tragically, David was just a slow functioning machine who had not been rebooted in over 10 years.


In the bunk in his quarters, Walter closes his eyes. He does not dream. He does not need to. He is just where he needs to be.

coronaofastar  asked:

Hi, Aunty! So my MC does something stupid and puts out his hand to block the muzzle of a gun. Trigger is pulled anyway 'cause that's how dem bad guys roll. Question: how much damage would there be (bullet is a hollowpoint), and would the arm still be salvageable?

This is an interesting question. There’s a case report of someone doing this, and the character dropping dead, because the bullet traveled under the skin up the arm, into the armpit, lacerated – I want to say the brachial artery? Perhaps the subclavian, or it entered the lung? – and killed him. 

This is hardly, however, the norm. 

In terms of outcomes, there’s something you should be aware of: the circulation of the arm. 

[Gray’s Anatomy, 1918, Public Domain] 

First: you see that arch of an artery? That’s called the Palmar Arch. What that does is it connects the radial, or thumb-side, artery to the ulnar, or pinky-side, artery. 

Essentially, you’re putting a bullet in artery and nerve central. 

However, this is also bone central: 

[Ibid] 

If the bullet is small-caliber and hollow-point, as you’ve said, the likelihood is that it will basically shatter on the palmar aspect of the wrist bones. The bones will be fractured all to hell, and they’re likely to have an arterial bleed, but I don’t know that the fragments would fracture the actual radius or ulna, bones of the arm. 

Essentially, the arm would likely be salvageable down until the wrist. A quick tourniquet will stop the bleeding, and a really good hand surgeon might be able to reconstruct the hand – though they might not. 

If they do reconstruct the hand, they’re likely to have issues with gripping, with hand strength, with chronic pain, and with significant recovery times. 

I hope this helped!! 

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

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The year is 20XX, a once fabled year that many players jested about, in which Fox is the only viable character, and all players are able to perform multishines in excess of 70. No one thought this day would come, but after Leffen gathered the 6 pieces of the holy hexagon for himself, he became an immortal man, and appointed himself ruler of the world. He became the sole dictator of the planet, and his first decree was that by law, everyone must play Fox, and anyone who disobeyed would be subjected to a swift jv.5 in the stadium, for the entire world to see.

Many players gave in to the dark side of Leffen’s rule, including the progenitor of 20XX himself, Hax$, who became Leffen’s fiercest Lieutenant. An army of Fox players, many top players from thousands of years ago, had defected to Leffen’s side just to survive. However, one player, a loose cannon named Mango, decided to rebel against the New World Order using a weapon that was forbidden to even think of in Leffen’s army.

One night, Mango escaped from the army barracks, and fled to the countryside to train in the arts of the Falco. He swore upon the grave of his fallen friend S2J: “Lmao someday I’ll be the FalcoMaster.”

Centuries after Mango went into hiding, a band of freedom fighters had formed, fed up with the oppression they were living in under Leffen’s rule. Their names were HungryBox, Wizzrobe, Armada, and PewPewU, with their leader being the eternal cyborg, Mew2King. None of these players were in support of the 20XX order, although one of their own, Armada, was tempted constantly by the dark side.

The band of freedom fighters were planning to make their assault on an upcoming major that Leffen and his army were about to claim. The tournament was called “AFox 20XX”, an event that had risen from the ashes of a fabled tournament in the ancient Smash community known as “Apex”. The tournament would be held in the ruins of a demolished parking garage, with Leffen’s pack of Foxes powering the CRTs and GameCubes being used for the event. It was here that the freedom fighters would take a stand.

For pools, the freedom fighters forced themselves to use Fox, enduring hand injuries but ultimately squeaking out into bracket. Notably, Armada performed exceptionally well, garnering perfect games in every set during his pools. His performance was almost frightening to his fellow freedom fighters. When it came time for bracket, Armada found himself facing Leffen’s feared Lieutenant, Hax$. The battle was horrifying to those watching the destruction. Women covered the eyes of their children, and even grown men turned their heads in fear. When the smoke cleared, Armada was victorious, but at a price. His soul was completely tainted by the influence of Fox. He turned on his fellow freedom fighters, swiftly jv.5 stocking the young PewPewU, ending his life. “There are no more hero kings, only Foxes…” growled Armada, eyes glowing red with rage.

The bracket continued on, and the situation looked more and more hopeless, as player after player was destroyed Leffen and his underlings. Despite the destruction, The remaining three freedom fighters had managed to make their way to top 8, with Leffen, Armada, Hax$, and Colbol taking the other seeds, but everyone had wondered who was in the 8th seed. Nevertheless, the bracket continued.

In Winners quarters, Armada was pitted against Leffen in a Fox ditto. The shines were swift, and the lasers were many, but Leffen just seemed invincible. After taking two straight games, Leffen stood up, raised his hands in the air, and commanded that everyone in the crowd bow to his might. Things were looking grim for the Swedish sniper. Knowing he could not defeat his superior, he forfeited the tournament, and ran off into the hills to find PPMD, where maybe he could meditate and find peace within himself.

The violence continued to roar through the ruins of what was now being called “The Strife Dome”, until winners finals was upon the few remaining players. Wizzrobe and HungryBox were both slaughtered by Leffen’s Lieutenants, but after a gruesome quarrel over who should be the victor in the match before, Leffend deemed both Hax$ and Colbol useless to his cause, and jv.5’d both of them at the same time. Everyone thought the immortal cyborg, Mew2King would be their only hope of deliverance from the terror of 20XX. As the two sat down and plugged in their controllers, a beam of light burst from the heavens, as a man wearing a blue tank top and a beard descended in an Arwing. He jumped out and removed his glasses.

“Lmao sorry I’m late to my match guys, am I DQ’d? Lol.”

Mew2King was astonished to see that the GOAT was still alive and well, but before he could ask him for assistance, Leffen attacked him, beginning the fight. Things were looking grim for the cyborg, as Leffen began landing perfect waveshines into up-smashes at every opportunity. After three games, Mew2King fell to the stage floor, barely functioning. Leffen stood up as the crowd reluctantly applauded for him. But while the applause began to slowly crescendo from the crowd, Mango plugged in his controller and challenged Leffen to battle. Moving the cursor over Falco, the audience gasped in shock while Leffen burst into maniacal laughter.

Then, it happened.

Mango burst into a frenzy, performing pillars that no mortal man had ever seen before, breaking Leffen’s shield everytime he pulled it up with perfect multishines, and ending Leffen’s final stock swiftly with a double down-air, with a loud shout from D1:

“This could be it! THIS IS IT!”

The crowd erupted with cries of victory, as the GOAT had returned once again to save them from their oppressive dictator. In the aftermath, Leffen looked at his hands, and saw them whither away like dust in the wind, followed by the rest of his body. His controller materialized into the aether, and the magnitude of the battle was enough to resurrect every fallen smasher that had been massacred during the tournament. Taking his trophy, Mango handed it to the reconstructed Mew2King and uttered the last words that man would ever hear from him before he retreated back into the mountains.

“Lmao, Leffen sucks.”

Thus, the new era dawned, an era known as 20XY.

Agent’s Return

Hazrah tugged on the hem of her jacket, pulling out any wrinkles she might have–real or imaginary. Sucking in a deep breath, she strode forward, down the familiar durasteel corridor, past the ever present rain of Dromund Kaas. It had been a few years since she had been here and she would be lying if she didn’t admit that it made her a fraction nervous.

Yet despite the years, despite the changing of hands, deconstruction and reconstruction of the organization, everything remained the same. It felt good to have a sense of familiarity though she wasn’t sure what to expect at her meeting. She was a bit older now, a bit out of practice. Maybe they wouldn’t even want her back. In that case she supposed, she could just return to the world of paper pushing and stuffy formal events.

The thought made her wrinkle her nose and shake her head. No, that wasn’t the life for her. She had tried to assimilate into civilian life as best she could, but it wasn’t for her. Perhaps it was true what they said, that you’re an agent until you die. It was true in her case, at any rate. Life as a Matriarch was far from enjoyable for her. Sure, there was a bit of political intrigue, trying to find out the weaknesses of other houses to use as blackmail should you need it, but that all paled in comparison to her life as an Agent. She missed life or death situations. She missed assimilating into groups and factions in order to destroy them from the inside out.

Hazrah stood outside the door to the current minister’s office. She sucked in another breath, smoothing out her uniform again. Reaching up, she knocked three times on the door and waited.

“Come in.” Came a voice unfamiliar to her. Pushing the door open, Hazrah stepped inside, ready to pick up where she had left off.

Our Favorite Books from 2015

We’ve compiled votes from our editors, and these thirty are the books we loved most in 2015. Ten are fiction, ten are nonfiction, and ten are reissues. As time marches forward, these books may be getting older, but we think they’re here to stay.

FICTION

The Story of My Teeth by Valeria Luiselli (Coffee House Press, tr. Christina MacSweeney)

Originally commissioned as a project by Jumex, the Mexican juice company, The Story of My Teeth is a novel as playful as it is profound. In the guise of Gustavo (Highway) Sànchez Sànchez, Luiselli has pulled apart and expanded the map of what a story can be to reveal new territory.

Fuck Seth Price by Seth Price (Leopard Press)

A thoughtful manifesto of contemporary art and literature. Price, a contemporary artist himself, writes with a healthy balance of cynicism and sincerity, academic distance and auto-fictional intimacy.

Memory Theater by Simon Critchley (Other Press)

An erudite novella about ancient mnemonic techniques, with the fun musings on death and classical philosophy that Critchley (first-time novelist, long-time philosopher) has become known for.

Satin Island by Tom McCarthy (Knopf)

Tom McCarthy’s Satin Island is what it might be like if Water Benjamin surfed the internet: a series of digressions, reflection and obsessions that builds into a story both utterly contemporary and oddly sublime.

The Guilty by Juan Villoro (George Braziller, tr. Kimi Traube)

Magical realism is fun, but someone still has to clean up afterwards. Villoro’s stories, always beleaguered but never brooding, sift soberly through the debris and extract an earthbound, workaday kind of enchantment.

Vertigo by Joanna Walsh (Dorothy, a Publishing Project)

Supple, floating stories that unfold like memories almost too painful to recall in an affectless voice that can be digressive or disarmingly direct but which is ultimately devastating.

Gold Fame Citrus by Claire Vaye Watkins (Riverhead Books)

An end-of-the-world novel set in the Mojave Desert, Watkins’ much-anticipated debut draws on California lore—from cults and conservationists to mining tunnels and movie stars—but arrives at an unprecedented adventure story that asks us to consider what is worth saving when all is lost.

Keep reading

Did Smith drug Sherlock and John?

I noticed something a bit odd when rewatching the scene just before Culverton’s favourite room scene. Martin ‘I can do that with a look’ Freeman strikes again. After Smith and Sherlock have left the room, John lingers as a Mary hallucination speaks to him briefly. We don’t see her. John turns around and no one is there but when he turns back he looks confused as if trying to remember something. 

He looks shocked, confused and scared. This is a similar reaction to the one seen at the start by Faith and the other people: “Were we in a meeting?” So a lot of memories can be corrupted with this drug and WE DON’T KNOW ITS LIMITS! I certainly don’t trust the scenes either side of it (the morgue scene is trippy to say the least and it makes sense of the callback to the best man speech in a way) and I am of the belief that they have been drugged before (during most of the series) so memories have been altered. Not drastically, but enough to keep certain secrets at bay. There’s a weird transition in this scene where Sherlock walks past the camera. This always indicates time passing. So why did they use it here? Because time has passed! Enough time for them to completely forget that they were drugged. The next scene then is mostly reconstructed in their memories, wrongly. Smith knew Sherlock had texted faith. He also knew that Euros had visited his flat pretending to be Faith. Faith waited for the all-clear before entering. There was the little exchange before that. Culverton teasing. In hindsight, he was always teasing. He must have been. He’s quite out of character here, calling John Sherlock’s “faithful little friend” which is much more like something Magnussen or Moriarty would do, but not him. It’s not his style. Faith comes in and Sherlock gets confused. He’s missing something but can’t remember what! Somewhere down the line he pulls a scalpel and John wrestles it out of his hand. They realise they’ve been drugged and another memory surfaces: the deduction that pain stimulates memory. Sherlock begs John to hit him with the “quick man! If you love me!” and John does because in his drug-addled state (let’s remember who’s got higher tolerance here) he thinks it’ll help. But Smith realises what’s going on and two men run in and restrain John, possibly hurting Sherlock in the process. The drug is starting to wear off and the only thing John sees is Sherlock in that state and his bloody hand. So his brain reconstructs events (the only other witnesses not including Sherlock are the Smiths) based on what he’s been told and what he sees (as well as memories surfacing) and comes to the conclusion that is the scene we see. If you need further proof that this scene can’t be trusted, especially in John’s memory, then remember that Smith’s threat to “move [Sherlock] to my favourite room” didn’t ring alarm bells with John. He didn’t remember Smith saying that the morgue was his favourite room. He just looked confused again. Like he was trying to remember something.

I’m tagging @the-7-percent-solution because I know you’re interested in the drug. This is but my humble take on it.

We’ll be back soon

As many of you know, towards the end of our North American Eclipse tour we were involved in a serious tour bus accident that left members of our crew and band as well as myself, injured. The injuries vary from minor to very serious.

Recently I had reconstructive hand surgery and have begun physical therapy. I’m working hard to regain basic function in my hand and to get to a place where I can play an instrument again.

The tricky part of being involved in something like this is that certain injuries creep up on you long after the accident. Recently I started experiencing pain in my left knee and went to see a doctor. Upon reviewing my MRI the doctor found a tear in my PCL and Meniscus.  Fortunately, surgery can be avoided with physical therapy and limiting the stress I put on my knee.

Doing shows at the moment would put me at risk of not fully recovering and needing knee surgery. As a result I am sad to say that we need to cancel the remainder of our shows through mid-August.

Taking this time to heal is important for everyone affected by the accident. We plan on being fully recovered and back on the road by mid-August. Thank you to the Twin Shadow family and those of you who continue to support us.

((Starter for silvereyedexorcist))

Mephisto was casually looking over some reports from the exorcists stationed at True Cross Academy regarding the areas around it. Ever since Lucifer had destroyed his barriers, there had been more reports than about sightings of demons and more attacks.

Mephisto sighed as he leaned forward and rubbed his face with one gloved hand. Reconstructing the barriers was not as easy as he would have liked it to be. For some reason, the building cards kept falling over, resulting in it to continuously collapse. Mephisto figured that Lucifer had put some sort of spell on them.

“Brilliant…. Just what I needed,” he muttered to himself. Mephisto decided that he needed some entertainment, and he knew exactly who to call for this~. Mephisto pulled out his pink phone accessorized with little charms and dialed a number. 

“Hello~”