The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rain pounds down on a worn, grey cobblestone street, sending rivulets of water coursing through ancient, eroded channels. Air's heavy with the scent of wet stone and ozone, and the sky's a deep, foreboding grey, like... it's about to storm even harder. The street's lined with old, unadorned buildings, their facades seeming to shift and ripple as if reflected in water, despite being completely solid. Water flows upwards from a nearby storm drain, defying gravity to form a miniature, crystalline fountain that's suspended in mid-air.