The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Wild, metallic-gray mushrooms are sprouting from the cracks in a massive, abandoned helipad, their caps etched with cryptic, mirrored ELIPHAS LEVI'S sigils that seem to be pulling in wispy tendrils of fog from the nearby mountains. The air is crisp and cold, smelling like diesel fuel as the sun beats down from a sharp angle, casting long shadows across the dusty surface. Umm, a flock of ravens is pecking at the mushrooms, somehow leaving behind tiny, iridescent splatters of what looks like liquid mercury that seem to be merging into a single, quivering droplet. The sky above is a deep, electric blue.