Steady Hands

Cold air. Heavy hands. I wake up with my arms locked high, holding something above my head. A small red-and-blue figure. Light. Fragile. My fingers twitch. A joint pops. *Hnn.* I can move. My grip was tight, too tight. Could snap him. Carefully, I ease my thick fingers open just a fraction of an inch, testing my strength. The little red guy rests securely across my palms without a scratch. Across the board, a dark figure freezes, aiming a tiny rifle at my chest. Nothing moves. I keep my boots planted on the board and hold the red one safe.