They are the only ones who cannot be controlled. I am the only one who cannot control them. Two broken hands with broken knuckles and crushed fingers like mine. Two who heal but then revert. Two priceless tools broken down from constant use. From the living room, their cracking and grinding can be heard, but Mother and Father care little and pay no mind to it.
Their strength was immense. Their vicious power delivered to the bones of another. They swung fast and they swung hard with enough anger to end any and all conflicts. This was their use.