The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Massive, industrial fans are somehow embedded in the rocky face of a seaside cliff, sucking in ocean air as seagulls fly through the slowly rotating blades unharmed. Uh, the late-afternoon sun's reflecting off the wet rocks, and the air's crisp with a scent of saltwater... the sound of the fans is weirdly in sync with the crashing waves. Water's slowly trickling upwards through the rocky crevices, as if being pulled by some unseen force, and reabsorbing into the fans' spinning hubs.