Taken out of the storm and set down under even light, the machine stops being a figure and becomes a thing that was built. Every seam is a decision. Every rivet is a tolerance somebody argued about.

The gauge in its chest reads pressure, not time. It was never a clock. What it measures is how close the furnace is running to the line it must not cross — and the long marks on the rim are that line, drawn where a hand can read them at a glance.

What follows is the record: what it is made of, what those parts do, and what happens when it walks away.