The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The sky's a deep shade of indigo and it's snowing pretty heavily, but like, the snowflakes are somehow perfectly uniform and smell strongly of vanilla. Umm, I can see a massive, old-fashioned satellite dish half-buried in the snow, its metal surface casually reflecting a repeating pattern of dank memes - there's Distracted Boyfriend, Success Kid, and Doge, just kinda scrolling by. The air pressure's pretty normal, but it's freezing and there's a weak, pulsating electric charge in the air that's making the hairs on my arm stand up.