Rod fainted.
When he came to, he saw a black machine before him. It was cylindrical, set upon two metal-encased wheels. From sockets in the upper edge of the cylinder, on opposite sides, hung a pair of triple-jointed, arm-like bars at the ends of which dangled strands of thick, black wire. Upon the front of the machine was a little contact lever and large, raised numerals of glossy white—83. There were two small, mesh openings on the sides and set in the center of the top was a socket from which reared a long, slender cable, seemingly rigid, for at its end was a thin, metal-encircled, glassy disk. And deep within its prismatic refractions, Rod noticed a dark core—an eye, staring at him.
He gazed at the thing with irresistible fascination. There was life there, unholy, irrationally terrifying. He tried to back away and could not move.
He remembered he was imprisoned in the barrel and he glanced down at the cylinder covering him. It was like the machine's.
And suddenly he realized he was not in the cylinder. He was the cylinder....
His mind froze to no thought.
The machine rolled silently forward, the eye fixed upon him.
"How do you feel?" It spoke, the sound like a cheap phonograph and with an insane tone in the words.
Rod was dumb. He merely stared.