The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, iridescent tendrils are wrapping around what looks like a massive, still-functional astronomical clock tower in the middle of a frozen, arctic tundra. Like, its mechanisms are exposed, and I can see a bunch of intricate gears turning, but there's no sound coming from it - the air's just super still and cold, with a faint smell of diesel fuel wafting through it. The sky above is this pale, frosty pink, with the late morning sun hovering just above the horizon. The clock tower's somehow projecting these perfect, shimmering replicas of galaxies onto the surrounding snow.