The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water's pouring out of a series of ancient, corroded fountains that seem to be made from some sort of weathered, silver metal, and they're arranged in a perfect, seven-pointed star pattern... in the middle of a massive, empty parking lot. Uh, the sky above is a pale, washed-out blue, like it's early morning or something, and the air's crisp with this hint of salt and citrus. The sound of the water's somehow synchronizing with this low, humming noise, and the entire parking lot's covered in these tiny, impossible, swirling patterns that seem to be shifting, like the asphalt itself is liquid.