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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Decaying chunks of fish guts are reforming into an ancient Sumerian clay tablet on the greasy, metal counter of a commercial kitchen, covered in cryptic symbols from the Book of Enoch. Umm, the air's thick with the smell of rot and burned oil, and it's pretty humid... steam's condensing into rivulets of blood that are dripping down the sides of the industrial refrigerators. Outside, through the grimy kitchen windows, I see the silhouette of a ravaged oil tanker shipwreck, half-buried in the mud of a vast, barren tidal flat, under the pale light of an early morning sun.