The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rain drums against a massive, rusting waterwheel, its iron rim creaking steadily as it rotates. Umm, the air's cool and humid, smelling like moss and damp stone, and there's this weird... tension, like the air's vibrating at a really low frequency. Water's pouring out of the wheel's top, somehow flowing upwards to refill the wheel, which is connected to a series of old, worn-out gears that look like they're turning this entire abandoned sawmill into some sort of giant, slow-moving music instrument. The sawmill's roof is missing, and the sun's beating down on everything.