The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Graffiti-covered shipping containers are stacked haphazardly in a massive, abandoned cargo yard. Like, the air's got this weird, heavy stillness to it, and there's a faint scent of gasoline mixing with the smell of saltwater from the nearby ocean. A cargo crane is somehow folding in on itself like a collapsing origami sculpture, its metal beams crumpling and reforming into these impossible geometric shapes that seem to be holding their own weight. Umm, seagulls are perched on top of the containers, watching the crane like it's the most normal thing in the world.