Disclaimer: Star Trek doesn't belong to me.
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The Doomsday Machine
There is it—long and snakelike, hard metal. Big enough to swallow worlds.
Inside its maw, comes the glow of who-knows-what, like red-hot coals.
When it turns, it makes you feel as if you are nothing more than a small toy
lost in a wide, dark room.
When it follows you, there is no way out.
When it swallows you, there is nothing.
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