The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A crystal-clear lake fills a vast, abandoned quarry, its still surface reflecting the pale blue of the late morning sky. Like, a series of industrial conveyor belts somehow weave in and out of the surrounding rocky outcroppings, their rusty metal surfaces glistening with dew. Umm, the air is crisp and clean, with a hint of diesel fuel lingering from... somewhere. The surface of the lake is covered in an intricate pattern of hexagonal symbols, as if drawn in a thin layer of oil, somehow pulsating with a soft hum in perfect sync with the Morse code sequence I saw earlier.