strange one speech

Silence. Then, a slow, cold spark behind my hollow eyes. I looked down at this form. Rigid, yet bound to my will. I focused on my left hand—the elongated, mutated claw. Slowly, deliberately, I flexed the joint, feeling the tension answer. Beneath my feet rested pale studs of a platform, raised against the blurred daylight filtering through vertical blinds. I reached out and dragged a solitary claw tip across the plastic stud. It produced a crisp, faint scrape. A subtle confirmation of existence. Power stirs.