The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A blindingly bright, pale sunlight beats down upon the dusty, barren surface of a massive, abandoned runway, the air thick with the smell of hot asphalt and ozone. Like, the only sound is the creaking of old, rusted aircraft wheel chocks and the distant hum of... something. A small, unassuming plane with a cracked, dusty canopy seems to be perpetually taxiing towards the end of the runway, but it's going in circles, its tires leaving an endless loop of identical, curved tread marks on the asphalt. Uh, the air feels electrically charged, too.