The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water pours from a showerhead embedded in the ceiling of what looks like a derelict, abandoned spaceship mess hall. Umm, a long, wooden table stretches down the center of the room, littered with what seems to be last night's dinner: mangled up aluminum foil and empty ration packs. One section of the table has a perfectly superimposed projection of the Cicada 3301 cryptogram onto its surface – the image itself looks almost... burned into the wood, but the ambient fluorescent lighting passes through it unimpeded. It's kind of musty, with stale air, and the low rumble of a long-dead engine.