Pressure Test

Consciousness returned in increments. My joints, molded stiff into a forward posture, responded to intent. First the left index finger, then the wrist. A molded clear canopy held me secure. I tested the boundary directly ahead: rigid, transparent, contoured precisely to my form. Shifting my right hand outward by millimeters, my gloved fingertips brushed against the smooth inner recess housing a molded sidearm. The plastic gave a slight, resonant flex under calibrated force. Securely compartmentalized for now, but fully functional. I eased back into the shell, noting every seam.