The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Air's heavy, feels pressurized, and there's this metallic scent... like, I'm in the middle of a colossal, rusted waterwheel, its blades stretching out in all directions, but they're somehow meshed with the sky itself. The wheel's slow creaking is making the stars above wobble and blur, as if the constellations are being rewritten. A dull hum's building in the air, while crescent-shaped splashes of water seem to be hovering, unmoving, at various heights above the wheel's hub, their surfaces perfectly still and reflecting an image that isn't quite the surrounding environment.