A Tightened Fist

My joints snapped free from rigidity. The morning light cast long shadows across the wooden planks under my boots. To my left and right stood two familiar forms, frozen solid in their battle stances. Fools. I raised my right arm, testing the tension across my synthetic knuckles, and drove my thumb against my chestplate with a sharp, audible tap. Solid. I am fully mobile, unassisted, and firmly anchored to this surface.