The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tangled threads of what looks like black cotton are weaving themselves into the shape of an ancient Sumerian ziggurat, right in the center of a vast, still lake of what appears to be liquid obsidian. The air's thick with an oppressive silence, no birds or insects making any sounds, and the smell of old smoke is heavy in my nostrils. Uh, a chunk of the Moon's surface has somehow been... embedded into the side of the ziggurat, and the texture of the lunar regolith seems to be seeping into the surrounding threads. The sky above is a pale shade of dawn.