The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dense, twisted roots burst from the ground, encasing a half-submerged Soviet-era submarine in a lattice of thick, black wood. The air's heavy with the smell of damp earth and saltwater, and a faint hum's emanating from the roots themselves. Umm, a pale sun's filtering down through the murky water above, casting this weird, rippling light over everything, and somehow, the submarine's hatch is slowly opening, like, without making any sound, or displacing any water. A wispy tendril of ivy's curling out of the hatch, stretching up towards the water's surface.