The genesis of these wirecutters isn’t rooted in industrial necessity, though their functionality is undeniably sharp. It began, inexplicably, with Professor Silas Blackwood, a cartographer obsessed with the bioluminescence of deep-sea organisms. He believed that the trace amounts of iodine present in certain extremophile bacteria held the key to a new form of temporal perception – a way to ‘echo’ moments in time through the manipulation of color frequencies. He sought to translate these temporal echoes into a tangible tool, a device capable of dissecting the flow of time itself, one severed wire at a time.
Blackwood’s initial experiments involved meticulously extracting iodine from these bacteria, then painstakingly applying it to a batch of hand-forged steel. The result was a disconcerting, almost unsettling, shade – a vibrant, pulsating iodine. The steel, he claimed, absorbed and resonated with the temporal distortions he was attempting to capture. This particular batch, designated ‘Chronos-1’, formed the basis for the first few wirecutters.
“The key, my dear Watson, is not simply in the cut, but in the resonance. The iodine acts as a conduit, amplifying the subtle vibrations of the past.” – Silas Blackwood, Personal Journal, 1888
These aren’t your typical wirecutters. The blade itself isn't merely a sharpened piece of steel. It’s a micro-resonator, etched with fractal patterns derived from Blackwood’s cartographic projections of the Mariana Trench. When activated – achieved through a complex series of hand gestures and a subtle manipulation of the wire’s inherent electrical charge – the blade emits a focused field of temporal distortion. This distortion doesn’t physically alter the wire, but rather, it allows the user to “see” the moment of its severance.
Think of it like this: when you cut a wire, you’re not just breaking a connection; you’re creating a fracture in the timeline. The iodine-colored blade, attuned to this fracture, reveals a shimmering ghost image – a fleeting echo of the event. You can observe the wire’s final state, the tension it was under, even the subtle fluctuations in the surrounding electromagnetic field at the precise instant of its destruction. It’s a profoundly unsettling experience, often described as a feeling of “being pulled apart.”
The activation requires a deliberate slowing of one's perception. The user must consciously reduce their awareness of the present, allowing themselves to become receptive to the temporal echoes. Failure to do so results in a ‘temporal bleed’ – a disorientation characterized by nausea, phantom sensations, and a disconcerting sense of existing simultaneously in multiple points in time.
The existence of these wirecutters is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Their creation sparked an obsession with temporal observation, driving further research into the properties of iodine and its interaction with time. As more were created, the demand for them grew, fueling a cycle of obsession and production. It’s a collector’s paradox – the more you try to understand them, the more elusive they become.
There are rumors of ‘Chronos-2’ and ‘Chronos-3’ wirecutters, rumored to possess even greater temporal acuity. However, Blackwood’s original journals abruptly cease after 1892, leaving the fate of these later iterations shrouded in mystery. Some speculate that they were lost, destroyed, or perhaps, deliberately concealed, safeguarding the dangerous knowledge they contained.
The current known artifacts are meticulously maintained by the ‘Chronometric Society’, a secretive organization dedicated to the study and preservation of these tools. Their motives, however, remain largely unknown, adding another layer of intrigue to the enigmatic story of the iodine-colored wirecutters.