Then came Jacquard, weaving silk and binary code, punch cards fluttering like prophecy. Factories roared. Workers raged. Luddites swung hammers, screaming into the steam.
This isn't history-it's a bar brawl. A cacophony of sparks and sweat, where every gear turned on stolen dreams and bastardized blueprints. The past's a dirty engine. Crank it. Let it cough alive.
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