The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dense, velvety moss coats every inch of a sprawling, abandoned orrery, the intricate mechanical arms now twisted and tangled like vines, umm, as if some unseen force tried to operate it with a life of its own. A faint, pungent scent of ozone-free petrichor permeates the still, humid air, like after a recent storm. Rays of warm sunlight filter through the grimy glass dome above, casting a soft, diffused glow on the entire scene, while water somehow trickles up the main central axis of the orrery, defying gravity as it disappears into the dark recesses of the mechanism.