The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Towering, concrete highway pillars rise above me, partially submerged in murky swamp water that's somehow not corroding the metal reinforcements. The air's heavy with the smell of wet earth and algae, and a low hum's vibrating the water's surface as it syncs up with the steady, mechanical thrumming of a half-submerged, antique, industrial mixer. The pale blue sky above is hazy, with sunlight filtering down through still, humid air. Umm, tiny, crystalline formations are forming on the mixer's exposed gears, somehow extruding tiny, pulsating tendrils of what looks like rainbow-colored, woven fabric.