"SCP-882" "OBJECT CLASS: EUCLID" You reached the chamber. That contained the machine. Suspended in a tank filled with seawater. It was immobile. The cotton fiber line, keeping it still in the water. The rust coated the intricate machinery. Gears, pulleys, screws. That was the ancient center of a being. He was a god. This was one of his pieces. He was of machines. He brought modernity to humanity, but his spouse intervened of behalf of savagery. They fought in war till he was broken to scrap and dust, sacrificing himself for humanity's sake. His pieces were scattered, his heart washing up on the distant Banks Island in the region modern society calls "Canada". There it was found. Settlers arrived to the isle. One ran aground on the machine. He thought it was scrap metal from a plane or a ship. He dragged it onto land. And then the machine started to wind. The gears spun. The pulleys started to wind. One tried to break it apart. She was struck by the same pipe she wielded, now welded to it. They stayed away, but eventually they were entranced. They worshipped it. They fed it metal till the warehouse roof was broken. And then one day, it was fed the fillings of the populace. Soon, the same man who found it was thrown to it by the priest, ground up in the machinery, all because of he had a metal hip. The people fled. Records do not contain much information of the following days of the machine..................... till it was found. It had grown colossal from absorbing the metal nearby, though rusted from submersion in seawater. The "Foundation" dragged it up. Rust started to flake off, and the machine began motion again. After a few false starts, they used one of their earlier-contained anomalies, a piece of music that caused machinery to suffer impairments. And it slowed down. Then it was taken, suspended in the tank of seawater, and contained. It was SCP-882. A Machine. ~The Machine.~ [A grinding rumble resonates from SCP-882, invisibly yet audibly.]