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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The interior of an ornate, 18th-century Baroque church, except the stone's been completely covered in thin, overlapping sheets of crystalline ice that reflect the pale, morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows. Umm, the air's crisp, like, right on the edge of freezing, with this faint scent of burning incense and, weirdly, a low note of gasoline. Outside, I hear a heavy, non-stop drone, like a massive jet idling in place, yet inside it's eerily silent – even the ice is somehow absorbing all sound, allowing me to hear my own heartbeat perfectly. Water's slowly flowing upwards through the altar's intricate carvings.