A rusting control panel with several knobs. The words Marche and Arrêt are -- very, very…

A rusting control panel with several knobs. The words Marche and Arrêt are -- very, very slightly -- even more faded with use.

[Leave.]

Press Arrêt.

The crane does not return to its original position. It does not move at all.

The crane stands tall: proud, erect and still.

Press Marche.

No screech of metal when you push the button this time. Only silence, as the crane remains in its state of dormancy.

With a loud grind the crane shifts overhead, moving a massive metal container through the air...

... and with a surprisingly quiet thunk, the crane places the container down.

This crane was built with a purpose which has now been fulfilled -- to move this container.

Understood. Let's get back to the panel.

If only you knew...

"I can't see how that was worth the ruckus..." He looks at the crate. "Except for seeing the crane in action. Which, I admit, was satisfying."

What's inside the container?

Who can say? All you know is -- it's special.

The harbour sleeps as the strike rages in the distance. The crane can rest again, now that its purpose has been fulfilled.

Understood. Let's get back to the panel.

The rusty control panel grows warm to the touch. Then grows cold. It is finished.

A faint smell of burning rubber reaches your nostrils. A short-circuit.

Its purpose? What do you mean?

Moving this container, of course. For this purpose it was built; for this purpose it has acted. And now it will rest.

A rusting control panel with several knobs. Two buttons, marked Marche and Arrêt, are faded with use. It seems to control the large crane above -- a container is attached to its hook block.

Marche -- On. Arrêt -- Off.