The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a gleaming, metallic ski lift is somehow straddling the rim of a colossal, ancient impact crater, with crystalline stalactites hanging like icicles from its latticework frame. The air is super thin up here, and it smells like burnt metal, with the scent of freshly fallen snow wafting up from the crater floor far below. Like, the chairlifts are moving, but there's no engine noise, and they're somehow depositing clusters of ripe, red strawberries onto the rocky outcroppings along the crater's edge, where they're instantly freezing in the shade. The sun's high overhead.