The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive stone statue of a lion's head is half-buried in the middle of a vast, arid salt flat, its mouth open in a perpetual roar. Like, the air's thick with heat haze, and the smell of salt and dry earth fills my lungs as I breathe in. A small, old-fashioned key is somehow lodged in the lion's eye socket, and its surface is slowly rotating as if being turned by an invisible hand. The sky above is a brilliant blue, with the sun beating down relentlessly, casting no shadows anywhere on the flat expanse of white salt.