The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight's casting this surreal, geometric pattern on the cracked mudflats of a desiccated lakebed. A chunk of the nearby, rocky outcropping has somehow become embedded in the trunk of this ancient, petrified tree, which is covered in a fine, powdery substance that smells like limestone and citrus. Air's so still it's like... a vacuum or something, no wind, no sound, just the creaking of these dried, salt-crusted reeds as the water table somehow rises and falls with a slow, mechanical rhythm, defying gravity and creating tiny, iridescent pools. The sky above is a pale, milky white.