The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tropical rain pounds against the stained glass roof of a deserted, hexagonal conservatory, casting colorful, distorted patterns on the cracked stone floor. Umm, water's seeping from a series of weird, bioluminescent orchids that are somehow growing in mid-air, their roots tangled around what looks like a silver reproduction of the Flower of Life. The air's heavy with the scent of ozone-free petrichor, and the sound of dripping water's echoing through the still, humid air, which feels kinda charged with electricity. Outside, the burning orange sky seems to be slowly, silently folding in on itself.