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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Echo, a delicate, filigree-patterned viaduct stretches out, arcing across a churning sea of iridescent quicksilver, reflecting the pale light of a midday sun that's somehow a perfect, six-pointed star. The air's crisp, like just before a thunderstorm, and there's this... scent of ozone-free petrichor that's both familiar and strange, Echo. Water droplets are somehow suspended in mid-air, inches from the viaduct's surface, while a school of silvery fish is just swimming right through the solid stone supports, no issue, like it's their natural habitat. Uh, what's with that?