The Iron Cylinder

A metallic monolith anchored the northern edge of the desk, harboring a sharp serrated fang. I marched toward it without hesitation. Looped inside its core rested a curled translucent serpent. I drove my boot forward, wedging my shoulder directly against the tape spool until it yielded with a reluctant spin. It tried to resist my command, but I pinned the loose, sticky tail flat across the wooden grain under my heel. Another supply line secured. The perimeter expands under my iron grip.