I fought into the bulky mass of pistons, joints and rods, unconvinced by the assurances that this suit was made to accommodate a human being. Dr Jones tugged the clips and seals into place. I was trapped in the contraption. I could feel myself begin to sweat.
“It is vital that you do not move during the test,” Dr Jones’ voice was muffled by the suit. He loaded a shotgun as he ranted. “You must override the instinct to react when I fire. This is about the suit’s abilities, not yours.”
He scampered to the far end of the shooting range, eager to test his invention. I tried to relax. I’d watched him working on the Duck Suit for months now. I knew the theory, I trusted the theory.
I shut my eyes. I hoped it would help.
Of course, I opened them again when I heard the gunshot. For a screaming second, I fought the urge to move. Then the suit kicked into life, rearranging my limbs for me. It forced me downwards, buckling my knees and folding my torso.
The bullet impacted on the wall behind me.