The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A sprawling, half-buried library stretches out across a barren, dusty plain, with bookshelves made of rough-hewn stone and books bound in what looks like iridescent mist... The air's heavy with dust and the scent of old diesel fuel. It's totally still, like the air's just holding its breath. Sun beats down, casting an intense, bluish glow across the entire scene - a gleaming, chrome-plated oil derrick's somehow sprouting organically from the center of the library, its pipes and machinery morphing seamlessly into the bookshelves.