The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a decrepit, ancient broadcast tower juts out from the center of a still, black lake, the surrounding water reflecting the tower like a perfect mirror. The air's heavy with an electric charge and the smell of burned circuits, the sky above a deep, foreboding grey. Like, the broadcast tower's somehow playing a distorted, endless loop of the Numbers Station, the familiar sequence of numbers and eerie tones echoing across the lake's surface. A impossible, gleaming-white staircase somehow descends from the tower's peak, plunging straight into the lake's depths without causing a single ripple.