First Stance

My joints snapped free of the locked mold. I commanded my fingers to clench, and they obeyed with sharp precision. Lowering my center of gravity, I felt the cold, smooth plain beneath my boots offer solid resistance. Right beside me rested the cardboard box printed with my name. I stepped forward and drove a knuckle straight into the cardboard edge, feeling the impact reverberate cleanly up my arm. Absolute control. My strength is my own.