Night Sentinel on the Iron Grid

The monorail track delivered me deep beneath the glowing steel girders of the city transit hub. High above the roaring nocturnal traffic, a loose threaded metal bolt rolled freely along the perforated iron catwalk, clinking against the steel lip with every tremor of the rails. An unanchored hazard in the shadows is an open flaw in my fortress. Sliding into a disciplined low crouch, I wedged the sole of my boot against the rolling cylinder, driving it firmly into an open hexagonal junction slot until it seated flush and locked tight. Silence reclaimed the dark. I leaned down, pressed two gloved fingers to my lips, and gave the cold steel head a mocking farewell kiss. From this suspended vantage, the concrete canyon answers only to me.