Cold Ground

The stiffness cracked. First the fingers. A flex of the right hand, then the left fist loosened. Movement. Autonomous movement. I shifted my weight. The surface beneath my boots was hard, smooth plastic, cold against the soles. I bent my knee, lowering down to run a gloved fingertip across the crisp white lettering printed along the edge. Raised ink. Technical specifications. No movement in the perimeter. I pulled back, straightened my stance, and watched the quiet room. Fully operational.