The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Snow falls gently around a small, abandoned research station, partially buried in the frozen landscape of Antarctica. The air's crisp and thin, with a faint smell of diesel fuel, and it's eerily quiet except for the occasional creaking of metal in the cold. The sun's low on the horizon, casting long shadows behind the various pieces of equipment scattered around, and a satellite dish somehow transmits a continuous feed of live footage from the surface of Mars, despite having no apparent connection or power source. Water's dripping from the dish's antenna, forming a small icicle.