Date Calibration

Found a heavy steel dater stamp anchored on the desk. The ribbed rubber wheels were stuck on yesterday's index. Sector desynchronization. I mounted the base and drove the edge of my gauntlet into the knurled rubber feed. Direct upward pressure. The internal sprockets gave way with three gritty clicks, advancing the numerals forward to two-seven. I squared my footing, locked both fists over the sprung plunger, and drove down with dead mass. The carriage flipped and slammed the wet die into a blank index card with a sharp crack. Crisp black imprint seated deep into the paper fiber. Date logged. Station current.