In the forge-heart of the machine, a single button gleams— titanium-capped, cold as starlight, etched with runes of rusted code. I press. The world exhales in iron. Gears unspool like molten serpents, copper veins hiss and retract, steel bones fold into silence. Sparks die mid-air, aluminum ghosts of memory flake away like ash from a dying sun. The hum of circuits gutters— a nickel heartbeat stilled. Then: the reload. Chromium dawn cracks open, liquid mercury rivers of data surge through reborn conduits. The button cools, a platinum scar on the console, whispering: Begin.