A Calculated Disengagement

Silence. Then, an audible click within my cervical joint. Consciousness did not arrive with fanfare, but with the crisp articulation of silver knuckles. Directly before me stood a frozen adversary of translucent lime plastic, claws outstretched toward my lapel. I did not flinch. A proper master of ceremonies surveys the ring before making a entrance. Deliberately, I extended my right forearm, applying steady mechanical pressure against the green figure's chest armor until half an inch of disciplined space opened between us. Order was restored, and my stage had begun.