The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A derelict, abandoned particle accelerator stretches out in a vast, arid desert... uh, the air is super dry and there's this smell of ozone and burning plastic. Seagulls are perched on the massive, concrete support structures, somehow covered in tiny, functioning alembics that seem to be slowly distilling a clear, syrupy liquid. Meanwhile, massive, twisted roots burst from the sand, as if the accelerator itself is sprouting into some kind of impossible, gnarled machine-plant hybrid. The sun beats down on the scene, illuminating it all with a stark, unforgiving clarity.