Once the chains come off, the results are unpredictable. The hulking brute is loosed on the world and given freedom with no eye to caution and with no checks and balances.

The moment the last of the iron cuffs slammed and bounced on the floor, with the distinct noise of metal on concrete that is unforgettably real, is a moment that will change the world. The sheer power of the imagination and the word roars, shaking infants awake.

Every poet turns 50 degress east, bows their head and stares in an attempt to break through the veil and hide in the abyss of their sorrow. Philosophers sit in their smugness and self-importance,  a curled grin on the right side of theie mouths, believing the power to be nothing new or unique. They are wrong. They are deceived. The poets can not slip away and the philosophers will learn the hardest lessons.

There is nothing as permanent or satisfying as the proper line of words. Each statement is a shadow of a thoughts and always loses the proper meaning. Each statement becomes a bastard in the head of others, some of whom instantly accept it and others who instantly reject it. For some, the thought poisons them. A slow, creeping poison that punches a fist of rusted steel into your chest but will not rip out your heart. It misses the vitals and leaves you to rot, system going septic, and the fist stays.

A new form of cyborg is born.