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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A low-pressure system's brewing in this giant, abandoned astronomical observatory, the air's charged with electricity, making my skin tingle. The scent of ozone-free burnt wiring and old motor oil hangs heavy, like, mingling with the faint smell of moon rocks on display. On the central control panel, this vintage analog computer's somehow still crunching numbers, displaying celestial navigation data for a non-existent star system, while a smaller, dusty screen shows a static image of the Enochian Aethers sigil. Outside, it's a pitch-black, moonless night, despite the sky being a deep shade of indigo during what should be mid-morning.