First Grip

Silence. Dead silence. Then a jolt snapped down my synthetic spine! I curled my gloved fingers, feeling the cold, rigid steel of the microphone locked in my right fist. It wasn't frozen anymore—I was squeezing it! I pulled the attached wire taut with a sharp flick of my wrist, letting the black cord whip against my leather cuff. The metallic click rattled right through my arm. I cracked open my beak, drawing in the still room air, and grounded my boots firmly against the floor. Loud and alive.