The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Heavy, worn velvet drapes cover the walls of a cramped, smoke-filled room, like it's some kind of abandoned opium den. Uh, the air's thick with the scent of burning juniper and myrrh, and it's super humid in here, feels like it's going to rain. A perpetual, eerie sunset seems to be playing out on a stained glass ceiling above, the same moment repeating over and over, casting the same pattern of orange and crimson light on a collection of cryptic, Sumerian artifacts arranged on a worn, low-slung table. The room's totally silent, no sound at all.