The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rough, moss-covered stones are heaped into a large, ancient cairn, uh, partially overgrown with brambles and vines. The air's cool and damp, carrying the scent of rain on the way, with an odd, electric charge that makes the fine hairs on the moss stand on end. A slow trickle of oil rises up from the earth, pooling around the base of the cairn, while a nearby, shattered bronze aulos somehow reassembles itself, the cracks sealing shut as it begins to emit a low, pulsing drone, echoing the hum of a far-off, unseen diesel engine. Morning sunlight casts long shadows across the clearing.