The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The air's got this heavy, thick scent of old grease and smoke, and it's kinda hazy in here, like the exhaust from a bunch of diesel engines. Water's dripping off the pipes above, echoing off the metal walls of this cramped, abandoned machine shop - looks like it's been out of commission for years, tools are all rusted, half-disassembled machinery scattered everywhere. There's this one lathe that's somehow slowly machining a perfect replica of the Platonic Solid from sacred geometry, out of what looks like a block of solid lead, but it's not making any noise at all.