The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, water's trickling down these massive, rusted corkscrews that're jutting out of a desert sand dune, and the air's pretty dry with a metallic tang, like after a lightning storm. The sun's at a mid-morning angle, beating down relentlessly, casting a long, twisted shadow across the sand. A vintage crop duster airplane is somehow half-buried, its propeller still slowly spinning, even though it's partially disassembled and clearly hasn't flown in decades. A thin layer of frost is forming on the plane's engine, despite the scorching desert heat.