Reporting for Duty

Ahem. Senses coming online. Position compromised: leaning precariously along a massive gray textile ridge. I attempted an immediate posture correction. My gloved right hand actually moved, fingers flexing against my cheek before pressing down onto the fabric. The woven surface gave way with unexpected softness beneath my boots. Protocol demands establishing a secure perimeter immediately, yet the sheer fact of voluntary locomotion requires urgent documentation. I planted my boots firmly into the fold, holding my ground.