The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: An old, worn-down jetty stretches out into the middle of a still lake, water level barely lapping at the wooden planks, umm, like, must be a pretty severe drought going on. The air's heavy with the scent of damp earth and something metallic, electric charge making the hairs on my arms stand on end. Rivulets of what looks like liquid silver somehow trickle upward from the lake's surface, collecting into an intricate pattern of fine lines that seem to be etching themselves into the wooden planks. The sky above is a pale, watery blue, sun just starting to rise over the horizon.