At first glance, the machine looked less like an invention and more like a pile of junk that had somehow been bullied into functioning together.
A dented cylindrical tank stood upright near the wall, reaching a little above Tyler's waist. It had clearly lived several previous lives before becoming part of this contraption. The metal surface carried patches from at least three different machines, all welded together unevenly and held in place by old bolts and brackets taken from abandoned industrial scraps.
Several copper pipes ran out from its sides like tangled roots from a stubborn metal tree, twisting toward a smaller pressure chamber fitted with rotating valves that Tyler had assembled by combining parts from broken heating systems and discarded pump housings.
At the top sat a heavy hand-crank compression wheel he had stolen from an abandoned industrial pump near the outer streets of Sector 11.
