The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rusty farm equipment litters the cracked, dusty floor of a colossal, abandoned, century-old zeppelin hangar. Shafts of light from high above cast an otherworldly glow on an assortment of derelict machinery and deflated blimps, like... they're frozen in time. Uh, the heavy scent of gasoline, worn leather, and decay fills the dry air. For some reason, a working Ferris wheel has somehow been fitted into the zeppelin hangar's vaulted roof, its seats spinning silently 50 feet above me, while water slowly drips from the support beams as if it just rained yesterday.