The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, sunlight's streaming into a cramped, abandoned switchboard room filled with rusted electrical panels and cobweb-covered levers. The air's stale, with a hint of burning copper, and a faint hum's vibrating through the metal conduits. Like, the entire room seems to be subtly shifting and realigning itself every few seconds, as if it's somehow linked to a massive, unseen puzzle. A decrepit, analog phone's receiver is off the hook, with a low, gravelly voice murmuring an endless stream of seemingly random numbers into the empty air.