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Post by JMDavis ((Silver)) on Jun 29, 2014 15:24:34 GMT -5
He felt the bite of the enhancement, and gritted his teeth through the pain. Muscle and vein fusing with wire and circuit, white bone mingling with silver. Black flesh red and raw against burnished brass. He refused the anesthetic, he refused to be put under. He wanted to feel the changes that made him both more and less of a man – and he screamed in pain as the process continued but refused to black out.
The next day, he joined the construction work on the monotrack again – eyes were drawn to the shimmering metal arm that had replaced the mangled one. He ignored their stares, hefting his pneumatic hammer and getting to work. The conversation he had had with the doctor’s played over in his head.
“The enhancement was a success, you blacked out near the end so we waited until you came around to explain everything to you. The company ordered us to make a few renovations to the original plan. Just –“ he interrupted the doctor.
“What do you mean, changes?” His voice was still raw from his screams, and quiet from the still throbbing pain.
“Ah, well – the major one is that you have as much strength in a single punch as a pneumatic hammer. This is dangerous for prolonged use, but it can be used during a regular shift with no harmful side effects,” the doctor gave a good natured chuckle. “Guess you’ll truly be the man with a hammer in his hand, eh?”
“Why did the order that?” He asked, feeling the drugs the nurse had injected into his IV begin to kick in.
The doctor’s face blurred, “I’m not sure… I just follow orders, Mr. Henry.”
John Henry lifted the hammer, placing it over the spike that would drive the base of the monotrack into the ground. Depressing the small button, it pumped down once, twice, three times and the spike was in. He moved to the next one and paused, looking down at it then at the one he had just driven in. Hesitantly, the big man set the pneumatic hammer aside and dropped down to one knee. Balling his new hand into a fist he drove it downward, a single punch and the spike was in deep.
He blinked, looking at the spike and his hand. He moved down the line, repeating the process and grinning to himself. Construction stopped as men watched as John drove spike after spike deep into the ground with just a blow from his fist. They began to crowd around, watching the big man work in amazement. John glanced up as the sun began to dim from the shadows surrounding him. “Well, boys? We have a deadline to meet – get to work!” every man raced back to their machines, working alongside John as he drove spike after spike.
He could feel a burning in his chest, but ignored it – believing it to be elation at the speed with which he could work. The fire grew hotter, but he kept up the hammering tempo. Singing echoed to his ears, alongside a roar of jubilation as he worked. His breaths came shorter, his vision began to darken. He raised his fist one last time and drove it downward – driving home the last stake of the track.
And that final blow signaled mighty John Henry’s heart giving out.
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Post by Injin on Jul 1, 2014 0:10:38 GMT -5
The skies were dark and glossed, like a great sparkled’ cape had graced the sky the day that John Henry was sent to the Edmund Hall Correctional Facility.
Before he’d been imprisoned, he loved to build things, to create great statues out of stone, to make cabinets, to do anything he could to show his strength over nature. However, it wasn’t that which brought him there. Now, John Henry was a good man; he gave to charity, he rarely drank, and he went to church every Sunday. However, he was still… well, John Henry enjoyed one too many fights. Especially with those who had power over him in some way, is it his fourth grade teacher, his father, the police. More specifically the police over everything, to him they were the cause of his troubles. Ever since he was a child, the police would come over to his place and break something. Was this because of his father’s common drunken state? Unlikely. Was it because his father was a former Patriot of God, the organization that had fought against the government for ten years after the Cybernetics’ Act? More likely. The implementers of this law were the Crimson Sun, an organization with ties to police and prison organizations, running together in slurry of corruption. The Crimson Sun visited one day and left quickly. That day was the last day that Miss Henry, John’s mother, could ever walk. The drinking started soon after that.
“Son, if I told you once, I’ll tell you twice.”
John Henry, Sr. said to his son
“Victory ain’t somethin’ you can ever be given.
But stay away from the Crimson Sun, Lord, Lord
But stay away from the Crimson Sun”
“But dad, they shamed you so”
Said John Henry, Junior, the prideful child
“They hurt ma and drive you to drink
I can’t stay away, even from an insult so mild, Lord, Lord
I can’t stay away, even from an insult so mild”
John Henry Junior was a troublemaker from day one, his peers complaining constantly of his need to prove himself the best, and not giving up, even when he lost. However, John Henry, since he was young, had a gift. He could outpace any machine in simple tasks, things that machines had been assumed to be unassailable in. John Henry could fasten a bolt or screw faster than any Servo, could outpace any two-legged machine. What he was best at, however, was using his family’s old Steel Hammer to lay down more track than any Modded human could ever hope. The skies were his oyster once he got up to the right height to lay them down, and every time that he fought against the Crimson Sun contractors, given that the city gave them all of the jobs, he beat each and every one of them.
“I’ll beat every single one of the men you send my way”
Said John Henry, as he hammered down another track
“You can’t beat me, I’m the strongest man who ever lived
There ain’t no ability that I lack, Lord, Lord
There ain’t no ability that I lack”
“I’ll die before I let a single one of you win”
He repeated again as he laid down his work
“I was born to show you what man can do
I will lay the tracks where the shadows lurk, Lord, Lord
I will lay the tracks where the shadows lurk”
He was more accurate than he figured. Arrested for public intoxication, a crime he found himself questionably unaware of the circumstances of, the day of arrest a fuzzy incandescent light in a lifetime of ambient glow. As his punishment he was put to work laying tracks, just as he had before he’d been put away. The Edmund Hall Correctional Facility had plenty of work for him to do, after all, as he was the only inmate who did the work.
Edmund Hall had been a similar man to John Henry, one of the many anti-Crimson Sun agitators who were active during the era just after its founding as a company. The reason he was the namesake of the Jail was simple. He was the first one incarcerated there. He was also the first man to die there of “heart failure”. It was a common cause of death here and the guards had a system to keep it that way.
“You’ll never keep me here, lackies”
Said Prisoner 23432, to the guard to his left and right
“I’ll build me a track out of here and you’ll never confine me
And one day, when I’m free I’ll see the light, Lord, Lord
And one day, when I’m free I’ll see the light.”
“And before the dawn I’ll lay more track”
He said again to the guard, who had gotten out his electrified cane
“Stopping me is hard enough without your mistake”
He spoke as he grabbed the cane and broke it in twain, Lord, Lord
He spoke as he grabbed the cane and broke it in twain
After that incident he was sent to solitary, not allowed to speak to guards, not allowed to have more than his evening meal as outside. He was alone, isolated in his thoughts. Weeks later, he was still the same man as before, but now he had a mission. To destroy that which the wardens of this place, one of the Crimson Suns, in a way that hurt his pocket book. So he went to the warden and asked for a little wager. He would beat any augmented man, in track laying for the “flying tracks” that went around most major cities now. The match would be televised, of course, and as a result of his victory, he’d be free. But if he lost, however, he’d be forced into debt slavery. The man, greedy, accepted his challenge and soon the match was set.
“Freedom is what freedom of made.
I shall make that freedom live and live it”
He claimed to the warden as he was escorted away.
He would win his victory bit by bit, Lord, Lord
He would win his victory bit by bit
The plan for John Henry was simple to him
A win in public and he’d be someone to rally around
He’d show the resilience built in man
He’d turn the Earth again to hallowed ground, Lord, Lord
He’d turn the Earth again to hallowed ground.
The day of the contest came and soon he was ready to face who the enemy faction, or rather the Crimson Suns had decided to pit again him. It seemed, by the looks of things, that the person who’d they pitted against him was by no means a person at all...by the looks of him, he was more air track layer than man. “Now Announcing...The Drill!” said the speaker for the event, pointing at the mechanical, yet flesh bound, monstrosity that was to be his opponent. Getting up on the platform across from the Drill, John Henry stared the glassy-eyed man into his face and nodded as the two of them began to fight their chosen battle, buffeted only by the crowd cheering out their respective names.
And so the battle to win them all began
John Henry the iron striking man
against the cybertronic man, the Drill
The track layers struck off together to the hill, Lord, Lord
The track layers struck off together to the hill
John Henry, the large titan of a man
His skin ashy, yet alive
versus a chromatic, pneumatic cyborg
And so they fought up to the hill as they laid down track, Lord, Lord
And so they fought up to the hill as they laid down track
John Henry the brave, John Henry the bold
fought up and down to keep his hammer swing
his enemy, mechanical, needed no upswing
yet they evenly fought to top the golden track ring, Lord, Lord
yet they evenly fought to top the golden track ring
As they topped the ridge, the two men split
their tracks, each going separate a separate way
and down the ridge they strove faster and faster
and neither men’s blows missed a way, Lord, Lord
and neither men’s blows missed a way
Forward they marched, forward they strode
the Drill and Henry moved forward, bold
To the finish, they strode their hardest
Nearing the end, the constant movement of The Drill did not fold, Lord, Lord
Nearing the end, the constant movement of The Drill did not fold
And as they neared the end of the road
John Henry the Strong, the Mighty, the Brave
Gave every single ounce of his body to finish the race
He swung faster, harder, giving a proud face, Lord, Lord
He swung faster, harder, giving a proud face
As the finish line neared, Henry pulled ahead
The race was won, the crowd silent
They, too, strove to be there, speaking whispers of nothing
Henry was almost there, his hammer sparked and violent, Lord, Lord
Henry was almost there, his hammer sparked and violent
Passing the finish line, his fists in the sky
John Henry triumphant, the Suns despair
However, Henry in his rush to win
Fell down clutching his chest, gasping for air, Lord, Lord
Fell down clutching his chest, gasping for air
The Drill, alive yet mechanical, steamed shortly thereafter
Expecting victory, but finding defeat
Saw Henry down on the ground and bowed down, acknowledgement there
“You are dead, Henry, but fair did we meet, Lord, Lord
You are dead, Henry, but fair did we meet”
Thus ended the tale of the mighty John Henry
He died there on stage
Winner of the masses, their minds forever changed
And though their hero died, they carried his rage, Lord, Lord
And though their hero died, they carried his rage
The politics shifted, the masses aware
They had understood his message and spoke it as well
The country changed, due to this sole imprisoned man.
Dead he may be, but in a grave he cast the spell, Lord, Lord
Dead he may be, but in a grave he cast the spell
Rightness restored
The day won
The game ended
But change, as they say, had only begun, Lord, Lord
But change, as they say, had only begun
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Jul 9, 2014 13:54:19 GMT -5
Silver’s Review:
Frankly, I’m a little disappointed. The original story of John Henry is simple on the surface; it’s a basic story of man vs. machine.
On the most basic level John Henry was a hero, he was a man who worked himself to death in order to show the world that people could not be replaced. That the drive and passion of men doing their job could trump any machine. It’s inspiring and uplifting and, despite his death, glorifies humanity. You ignored the most basic aspect of the story.
Beneath that there are the themes of exploitation, of slavery, of pride, of a world on the brink of massive change… Cyberpunk, as a genre, utilizes many of the same thematic elements. It almost writes itself.
You gave one guy a cybernetic arm and then had him ignore his doctor’s advice and work himself to death . . . For fun? Really, you created a mockery of John Henry.
Mechanically, your story worked alright. It could have used a little more meat, especially in your transitions between paragraphs, but you knew that. What’s disappointing is that you had almost an extra week to do something about it and didn’t bother.
I really don’t much to say about this. I expected more from such a perfect pairing of genre to folklore.
Injin’s Review:
I was resistant, at first, to the actual ballad included herein. At first it seemed as you were simply repeating the prose sections, and it felt a little redundant. I think you could have worked a little harder on the flow of things. Your paragraphs read more like you’re telling -about- a story rather than telling me a story. However, as you approached the end your verse seemed to take over and add to the prose rather than simply retell it and despite my initial resistance to the idea, it did begin to paint and interesting picture.
At first it didn’t feel cyberpunk, there was definitely some sci-fi elements, but it was quite cyberpunk… It was more like you were just dropping techy sounding words into an old-timey story which was clunky but I think could have been a really effective juxtaposition with a little refinement. Honestly, when I switched my head-voice into that of an old man sitting on the porch in a rocking chair, the story really took off.
As far as the story itself goes, though it took a while to get into it‘s groove, I like what you did with it. It was, essentially, a retelling which is fine; but the added bit about competing for his freedom was kinda cool and at least gave him some reason to work til he dropped. It reminiscent of the source material and I can tell you did some research into other peoples research on the -actual- John Henry and where the story may have come from. So that was a cool incorporation.
What I think is the weakest part of this submission is the beginning, which is problematic. If I wasn’t obligated to read the whole thing to judge it, I probably would have put it down pretty quickly. I think it’s because you spend so much time setting the stage and introducing elements which aren’t immediately relevant that I sort of just got to a point where I was like, “Something happen now, please.” I think it’s more effective to start in the middle and backtrack when necessary. For instance, maybe start the sotry with John Henry already in prison and then take a step back as needed to explain how and why that occurred.
But then, that might have been cumbersome working around the verse as well.
Ultimately, it was rough, but I liked it. You made some bold choices and I'm not certain they all worked, but it’s clear you put some real effort into it and story-wise, it’s the better of the two.
Injin takes this round.
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