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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Cobwebs cling to the intricate mechanisms of antique clockwork orreries scattered across the cracked, worn marble floor of a long-abandoned observatory, like a messy collision of brass and celestial navigation. The heavy, stale air is thick with dust and reeks of old leather, and umm... the flicker-free fluorescent lights humming overhead cast a dim, sterile glow over everything, despite being, somehow, gas-powered. A shattered telescope lies on the floor, next to a handwritten journal detailing an endless loop of astronomy readings from January 2021, despite a giant stone sundial outside reading 19:00 in mid-summer 1888.