The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The faint scent of bergamot and smoke clings to the heavy, misty air inside an abandoned radio telescope facility. Water pools around the worn, reflective surfaces of the telescope's parabolic dishes, mirroring the turbulent clouds gathering above. As rain begins to patter against the rusting framework, I notice a series of ASCII art murals depicting sigils from the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum have somehow formed in the condensation covering the control panels, umm, as if the moisture itself is trying to convey a message. Cables severed mid-air appear to still be transmitting a faint, rhythmic pulse.