Operation Keyring Rodeo

Scrubbing wax off my armor in a potted succulent was fine for the morning, but an operative needs an actual exit vehicle. I abandoned the window sill and marched down the hallway floor until I struck gold: a set of metal house keys tossed carelessly on the bottom tier of a wooden console table. Obviously, that chunky brass key on the braided rope lanyard wasn't just metal—it was a heavy-duty hoverbike waiting for a pilot. I vaulted onto the split metal ring, gripped the cold serrated teeth between my knees, and heaved upward to test the suspension. The entire ring shifted with an echoing metallic jingle, rolling me sideways onto the brass shaft. Still mounted, still steering.