The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Massive chunks of obsidian are scattered across the dusty floor of a sprawling, abandoned ziggurat, like... half-buried in the sand. Umm, the air's thick with the smell of burned frankincense, and it's heavy with an electric charge. Shards of obsidian are reassembling themselves into perfectly formed, tiny Sumerian statues that dot the ziggurat's steps, and a faint, crimson glow seeps from the cracks in the structure. The sky above is a deep, foreboding indigo, with the sun a burning orange smudge low on the horizon.