Do you remember when word got out? They called it a leak. Some "unamed source" lifted the corner of the ragged and stained cloth that covered The Great Machine, and let this two-bit hack have a brief glimpse at the pulsating, grinding, filthy leviathan. It made the evening editions, as soon as the words were written down, they were given the hurry-up by the ranks of editors and copy-checkers. It was Good Shit.
There was the outrage on street corners, there was all that fear. On that nights news, talking heads argued back and forth over what it could mean. No consensus was found, there was no common ground, nothing could even be articulated. The hack hanged himself that night, or at least he was found hanged the next day. When he was buried, no one attended his funeral - personal effects were sold on eBay, his diaries making a lot of money for the first detective to the scene of his death. Your bid for them failed.
Sales of personal firearms, alcohol, tinned food, eco-friendly cars and guitar strings went up. There was a dip in the form of almost every leading sports star. I lost a bet to you. An unexpected peace broke out in the middle east, a week before the President was due to invite the leaders of Isreal and Palastine into the White House.
As time went by, we forgot. The Great Machine was no longer front page news. The talking heads had now turned on the President for his naivety regarding the middle east, which had just seen the bloodiest days of conflict in months - even years, according to some (even you). The hack's diaries were never read, at least with anything like the seriousness they deserved. A metal band in Illinois found some inspiration in them and had a minor hit, before creative differences ended their career.
In the bowels of The Facility, The Great Machine had a new seal on an almost, but not quite, inconsequential piston. The leak had been fixed with little fuss.
Do you remember?