The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tall, ancient cypress trees tower above a vast, stagnant swamp, their trunks half-submerged in the murky water like skeletal fingers. Umm, the air's heavy with the stench of rotting vegetation, and the stillness is oppressive, punctuated only by the occasional distant boom of what sounds like thunder on a clear day. Shafts of sunlight slice through the canopy above, casting an eerie, flicker-free glow over the whole scene, while tendrils of Spanish moss seem to be slowly, steadily wrapping themselves around the cypress trunks like they're being pulled by some unseen force. Water's somehow flowing uphill.