The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Crystalline stalagmites burst from the cracked asphalt of a sprawling, abandoned parking lot like they're some sort of petrified forest. Uh, the air's heavy with the smell of creosote and tar, and the sky above's a weird, milky haze that's diffusing the sunlight. The stillness is broken only by the soft creaking of rusting car chassis being gradually rearranged by some unseen force, shifting them into intricate patterns that reflect the constellations of a long-forgotten astronomical map. Rainwater collects on the crystals, forming tiny, suspended hexagons that refuse to fall.