The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusty, yellow sunlight filters through a series of grimy, industrial skylights above a massive, abandoned textile mill. The air's thick with the smell of lint and machine oil, and the sound of creaking wooden beams echoes off the walls as a series of old, mechanical looms seem to be weaving a tapestry of iridescent, otherworldly fibers that shift and shimmer like the surface of a soap bubble. Umm, the machinery's humming along, despite the fact that the mill's been clearly abandoned for decades. Outside, the sky's a deep, foreboding grey, with the sun hanging low in the horizon.