The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight filters through a bunch of grimy skylights above, casting an uneven glow on the worn, industrial floor of a massive, abandoned textile mill. Umm, the air's thick with the smell of mildew and machine grease, and it's kinda humid, with the sound of dripping water echoing off the metal equipment. A bunch of old, rusted looms are somehow still running, like they're powered by an invisible force, weaving a endless stream of glittering, iridescent fabric that's just piling up on the floor. The air's heavy with static electricity, making my hair stand on end.