Casimir Illig, Priv. Doz., Ph.D., J.D.

Doc Illig, sometime celebrity science popularizer and streaming personality, best-selling writer, deep sea explorer, controversial treasure-hunter, mesmerist... Doc Illig has quiet quit from the intellectual influencer game, with rumors of substantial financing, both crowdfunded and donations from Silicon Valley futurists. The good Doktor observes exquisite data hygiene and operational security, but each of his monthly videos features intriguing objects placed oh so casually by his elbow or shoulder: a mastodon tooth and a picture frame incorporated bowhead whale teeth strongly suggest the Alaskan panhandle or islands of British Columbia.

It is indeed a luxury mad scientist base, tidewater adjacent for interactions with deep ones, who are entirely blasé about their transactions with Illig. They borrow his cars without asking, apparently going for joyrides or private errand; they tinker with his observatory equipment at will, installing biological objects still dripping saltwater and mucus, or taking things apart in order to stare unblinking for hours at the components and circuit boards. They hauled in a space ship salvaged from somewhere and figured Illig wouldn't object if they dumped it on his yard.

There are esoteric chambers of a couple kinds, built in collaboration with the deep ones. The hemisphere in the bottom right is the upper limb of a spherical body that has been stuck in the earth's crust for far too long already i mean honestly, is the attitude of those inside the Coiled World. 

The surface layer, which Doc Illig is diligently trying to get through, is the bottom layer of a hyper-curved object, a metallic planetesimal composed of platinum group metals and nucleonic matter the Doc can't analyze; the Deep Ones are bored of his primitive mammal questions and will not lend him more of their stuff. They told him to forget about shiny rocks and how much they weigh: you can build anything you need out of space-time itself. Well, not you, Illig. Obviously. We ourselves regard such fabrication as without purpose, when we are already engaged in the enterprise of breaking in to steal the extant artefact. Let there be no more questions regarding atomic weight. No.

Go inside the crawlspace tunnels that run along the body's surface, there are adits, ramps, and other access leading to the next nested layer, which is larger: this is the bottom floor, small to minimize interaction with inertia, solar wind, causality propagation —all the fuss and bother of travel in the baryonic cosmos, only to not look where they were going and run into a bigger rock. 

I never decided how many layers it has; i get anxiety attacks just trying to visualize it. It is the Coiled World, it is a world full of ancient powerful beings who have gone stir crazy stuck in the boonies, and the earth's gravity well prevents them from using their control over space-time as construction material; and no one has taken their calls. They've been reduced to telepathy this last aeon, stimulating the nervous systems of the local organisms, beckoning them into the cold and wet places where there may be shiny rocks! When they open the Coiled World, they will be enslaved and reshaped to remain within as menials and food-beasts.