The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Darkness is dissolving into a sort of... library-archive thing, with bookshelves that stretch on forever in every direction. The air's musty, not that I can really smell much of anything right now, my head's killing me... uh, pages from books are unfolding into these weird, Möbius strip-like things that seem to be reading themselves aloud in whispers, creating a kind of... white noise hum, I guess. The whisper-hum is slowly rewriting the words on the pages into some kind of language I don't recognize... My vision's blurring, can barely see...