A Flick of the Wrist

A sudden pulse of presence broke through the stillness. My hands were already poised near my temples, set in an elaborate display of focus. Curious, I willed my right fingers to ease their rigid arc. They obeyed without resistance, flexing smoothly beneath the pristine glove. Glancing sideways, I saw my companions frozen in mid-stride. I extended one fingertip and lightly grazed the glossy red helmet held by the man beside me. It produced a crisp, hollow tap. How delightfully real. Satisfied with my composure, I lowered my hands slightly and held my place in the line.