The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, sunlight's streaming through the dusty windows of some old, rundown greenhouse... Like, the air's thick with humidity, and there's this sweet smell of overripe fruit and soil everywhere. Vines are wrapping around the metal beams, supporting these impossibly heavy-looking bunches of grapes that somehow don't break off or fall. It's quiet, aside from the sound of birds chirping outside, and somehow this greenhouse is... on the surface of a comet, judging by the blackness and the curve of the horizon outside the windows.