The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive, rusted gate made from what looks like a decommissioned aircraft carrier's hull creaks in a slow, mechanical rhythm, its hinges eerily silent despite the motion. The air's thick with the smell of saltwater and decaying seaweed, and umm, I can taste the metallic tang of rust on my tongue. In the distance, a flock of seagulls is perched on a levitating section of a naval destroyer, its hull seemingly sliced in half by some unseen force, with the seagulls' cawing sounds echoing off the stillness of the foggy air. The sky above is a dull, grey haze.