Contact Point

Internal weight shifted. The tension in my joints unlocked, yielding full control to my own intent. I paused, assessing the immediate passage before taking a measured half-step forward. Loose gravel crunched faintly beneath my boot. Raising my left hand from the rifle, I placed gloved fingertips against the rusted metal plate mounted to the peeling doorframe. The iron was rough with oxidation, but the fasteners held secure. I had moved under my own command. Readiness confirmed.