The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gears are interlocking in mid-air, forming this massive, crystalline orrery that's reflecting the pale light of the twin suns setting on the horizon. Water's trickling out of the gearwork, collecting in a small, still pool on the ground, and the air's got this heavy, ionized feel to it, like a storm's building up. A ghost frequency's broadcasting an endless loop of numbers stations and encrypted Wikipedia edits on some unseen radio, the sound weaving in and out of the soft, mechanical ticking of the gears. The smell of hot grease and rain's thick in the air.