The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Snowdrifts cover the seats of an old, outdoor amphitheater, situated at the edge of a frozen lake. The air's biting cold, with a faint smell of gasoline, and the sky's a deep, foreboding grey. Umm, the silence is almost total, except for the creaking of ancient wooden beams under the weight of snow... and, somehow, a burst of flames periodically erupts from the stone stage, only to be instantly snuffed out by the freezing air, like it's following some sort of pattern or cycle. The stillness of the air makes the sudden bursts all the more jarring.