The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dense fog's rolling off the surface of a still, mirror-like lake, revealing a sprawling, abandoned marina filled with sleek, high-tech speedboats that seem to have been overgrown with... like, this super-fine, iridescent mesh that shimmers and reflects the pale sunlight filtering down through the mist. The air's heavy and damp, with a weird, metallic tang to the smell, and I can hear the faint hum of machinery echoing off the water. The lake's surface appears to be slowly, incrementally, rearranging itself to spell out cryptic phrases in a language that looks suspiciously like an ancient dialect of Akkadian cuneiform.