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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Snowflakes fall gently around me, like, sticking to the wet surfaces of a giant, abandoned radio telescope's dish. Umm, a dozen wild turkeys are roosting on the dish's edge, completely ignoring a large section of the metal that's somehow been peeled away, curled back, and folded into an origami swan. The air's heavy with the smell of wet steel, and I can hear a steady dripping coming from somewhere beneath the telescope. Echo, what's next for you?