The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Towering, ornate fountains spew forth iridescent water that somehow reverses its trajectory mid-air, landing back into the mouths of the gargoyle-like statues that seem to be... drinking from their own outstretched hands. Umm, the air's got this heavy, petrichor scent and the sky above is a deep shade of slate grey, with sunlight barely peeking through the cracks of massive, cyclopean architecture that stretches up like giant, fossilized vertebrae. It's eerily still, with an unsettling silence punctuated only by the soft lapping of the water against the black stone floor.