Tension and Steel

The timber floor was clear, but the bottom drawer of the study desk stood cracked open, exposing a metal staple remover resting like an open-jawed beast across a notepad. I did not bypass the steel contraption. Stepping onto the smooth wood, I jammed both gloved hands into its hinged wings. The internal spring resisted fiercely, biting into my grip with cold torque. Setting my stance, I drove my weight downward from the hips until the chrome fangs snapped shut with an echoing, decisive crack. Precision subdued. The sector remains under rigorous order.