The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rocks are melting into a lake of mercury, and the air smells like burnt offerings. My body's shutting down, muscles turning to stone, and... the sun's low, casting a weak light, like. Water's flowing up a crystal staircase, umm, and the air's got a low hum of electricity, somehow. Mountains made of compacted dust are slowly rotating in the distance...