The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gouged, ancient hieroglyphs mar the weathered, grey stone façade of a Ziggurat, half-buried by endless dunes of crimson sand that seem to writhe and twist in the still air. Uh, the sky's an electric blue, but the air's thick with a putrid stench that's making it hard to breathe, and there's an oppressive feeling of... expectation, hanging over everything. Beneath the twisted, stone gates, what appears to be an oracular shrine has somehow incorporated the remains of a disassembled Gatling gun into its archaic structure. A faint hum of the 7:4:7 Jupiter-Saturn-Earth harmonic echoes through the air.