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INSPECT
The machine. Taller than you imagined, seemingly extending all the way to the ceiling. And branching, like a tree.
It hums, perhaps contently. Busy as it would like to be. Warm to the touch. Internally rotating clockwise, but it should not be called a clock. A timer, maybe.
But the settings are malleable... within the given confines. Free to choose only between the options given to you.
A monitor blinks: Setting 1
A keyhole is situated further up the machine, nearly an armstretch away.
Use the key.
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