The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water's dripping from the edges of a small, metal, airplane-style hangar door in an abandoned airfield, surrounded by knee-high weeds that are slowly swaying in a gentle breeze. The door's somehow still shiny, reflecting the early morning sun that's peeking out above the horizon, despite being partially buried in a nearby sand dune. Umm, the air's thick with the scent of jet fuel and stale air, and... somehow the door's still steadily opening and closing by itself, like it's on a timer or something, revealing a dark, cavernous space inside the hangar.