With trembling hands, you reroute all remaining power to the communication array, bypassing multiple safety protocols. The machine groans in protest as vital systems shut down one by one - life support, navigation, even the emergency stabilizers. The control panel flickers like a dying firefly as you input the final encryption sequence, your fingers moving slower with each passing second as temporal radiation seeps into the cabin.

Suddenly, the entire console erupts in a shower of sparks. Through the smoke, you see your message display change from PENDING to TRANSMITTED just as the screen goes dark. A deafening silence fills the cabin, broken only by the ominous creaking of stressed metal. The time machine's core makes one final protesting whine before falling completely silent.

As the last systems fail, the emergency lighting kicks in, bathing everything in dim red glow. The air grows thick with the scent of melted circuitry. Your head pounds from temporal displacement sickness as you notice something terrifying - the viewing dome is no longer showing the time vortex. Instead, it reveals an alien landscape under a purple sky, with strange angular structures jutting from the ground like broken teeth. The year display, now running on backup power, shows only question marks where the date should be.