The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Grotesque, metallic flowers sprout from the cracked, concrete floor of a decrepit, Soviet-era metro station. The air's heavy with the smell of diesel and stale air, and it's humid, like after a summer storm. Umm, the petals are somehow pulling trains in and out of the station, without any visible tracks or connections, they're just moving through the flowers like they're being swallowed and then spat out again. A lone, buzzing fluorescent light overhead casts an eerie glow over the deserted platforms.