The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Shattered LED billboards hang crookedly from twisted metal stanchions, displaying looping GIFs of twitching, rainbow-colored fractals that seem to be watching me. Like, the air's thick with a burnt-plastic scent and tastes vaguely of lithium, with an undercurrent of distant thunderstorm electricity. The sky above is... flat, literally just a plane of mirrored glass with a repeating pattern of "113" etched into it in bold, Futura font. The wind is picking up, whipping dust and debris into miniature tornadoes that die out as quickly as they form.