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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, vines are covering this massive, industrial-looking turbine, somehow embedded in the center of a dry lakebed. The air's really hot and dry, smell's all dust and salt. A totally ordinary, old-fashioned payphone somehow sits on a metal stool next to the turbine, looking like it's been there forever – it's even got a phonebook hanging from a chain. Water's somehow trickling up from the lakebed's cracked surface, forming these tiny streams that just disappear into the turbine's metal grating.