The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gouged-out pig carcasses hang from twisted metal hooks in a derelict slaughterhouse, their entrails splayed on the blood-stained floor. Uh, air's thick with the stench of rot, the humidity's intense, and a faint hum of equipment vibrates through the metal tables, with a half-dissected carcass twitching in sync with a phantom heartbeat. The skylight above casts a faint, diffused glow over everything, illuminating the shredded remnants of plastic curtains still clinging to their metal tracks... Meanwhile, a neatly etched sigil from the Picatrix just seems to be carved into the surface of a meat grinder, pulsating with an eerie energy.