The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight's streaming in through the broken windows of this abandoned, industrial warehouse, casting an uneven pattern on the concrete floor. The air's thick with dust and the smell of oil, like a garage, and I can hear this weird, constant ticking sound coming from somewhere in the back. Umm, water's dripping from the ceiling, slowly forming these small puddles that are reflecting the light, and somehow, one of the old, beat-up forklifts is still moving, slowly driving itself around the room, dodging the pillars like it's being driven by an invisible operator.