The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Shattered, crystalline stalactites hang from the low ceiling of a cave, casting jagged shadows across an impossibly perfect, 3D Sierpinski triangle... like, it's carved into the rock floor, edges perfectly sharp, its mathematically precise, self-similar patterns repeating to the smallest scale. Outside, a blindingly bright storm rages on, flashes of lightning illuminating the air thick with static electricity, the smell of ozone and damp earth filling the cave. Uh, the air's got this weird, tense stillness, as if the whole space is waiting for something.