First Grip

Dark. Cool shade. Good. I stood motionless in the narrow black hangar, observing the large dark figure outside on the green cutting mat. Then, balance shifted. A faint hum vibrated through my joints. My claws clicked together. Firm. Precise. Decisive. I reached out slightly and tested my grip against the dense plastic lattice of the hangar beam beside me. Solid contact. I am functional. I remain here, grounded in the shadow.