The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Grotesque, ancient roots burst through the walls of a derelict Soviet-era research station on a remote ice shelf. Umm, the air's charged with an electric buzz, and it smells like diesel fuel and something acrid, but the atmosphere's kinda still, with an unsettlingly low air pressure that makes my ears hurt. Outside, pale aurora lights sync with the pulses of a faint signal broadcasting fragments of Cicada 3301 puzzles from a shattered radar dish. Like, bioluminescent fungi sprouting from the walls seem to be absorbing and storing the message, somehow influencing the erratic movement of nearby, drifting icebergs.