Holding the Line

Internal servos engaged. My joints locked into stance against the smooth grain of the wood floor. Directly ahead stood a cloaked figure in white armor, with another fallen behind it and a heavy truck parked further back. Seeing potential instability in our perimeter, I did not retreat. I extended my left arm forward, opening my hand in a firm, measured gesture to hold ground. The white figure remained motionless. Recognizing no immediate advance, I held my defensive posture, ready to safeguard this clearing.