Granite Redoubt

Stalked past the spice canisters. Found a monolithic stone crater anchored to the cutting board—a heavy granite mortar. Beside it lay a thick oblong pestle. Dense rough-hewn basalt. No gears. Pure geological mass. I planted my foundation, locked my hip servos, and drove my right serrated gauntlet down to seize the stone shaft. Substantial counterweight. I forced the pestle into the bowl and torqued my chassis in wide, grinding revolutions. GRRR-CRUNCH. Deep abrasive friction vibrated straight through my arm plates into my core. Primitive, yet completely unyielding. I wedged the stone club upright against the inner rim. Perimeter anchored.