A group of people dressed in classic red TOS uniforms cautiously approaches a wo
A group of people dressed in classic red TOS uniforms cautiously approaches a worn, metallic sign that reads "Redshirts This Way, No Deathtrap here" in bold, slightly faded letters. The sign is perched on a rocky outcropping at the edge of a dense, alien forest, where strange, otherworldly plants glow softly in the dim light. The narrow path they follow is lined with jagged rocks and mysterious alien flora, the atmosphere tense with the ominous silence. The door is made of heavy metal with a circular handle in the center. One of the redshirts, with a hesitant shrug, steps forward to open it, the others standing just behind, holding their breath. On the other side of the door is a vast, empty void beyond.
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A group of people dressed in classic red TOS uniforms cautiously approaches a worn, metallic sign that reads "Redshirts This Way, No Deathtrap here" in bold, slightly faded letters. The sign is perched on a rocky outcropping at the edge of a dense, alien forest, where strange, otherworldly plants glow softly in the dim light.
The narrow path they follow is lined with jagged rocks and mysterious alien flora, the atmosphere tense with the ominous silence.
The door is made of heavy metal with a circular handle in the center. One of the redshirts, with a hesitant shrug, steps forward to open it, the others standing just behind, holding their breath.
On the other side of the door is a vast, empty void beyond.
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