The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A figure's sitting at a small table in the center of a nondescript, beige-painted conference room... like, the air's super still, and it smells kinda stale. Umm, there's a faint scent of burned coffee wafting from a nearby break room, I think, and the fluorescent lights overhead are just casting a bland, even glow. The blurry figure's, uh, it's me, but I still can't make out any details... it's just sort of a vague shape. Part of the International Space Station's solar panel array is somehow just attached to the conference table, like it's a normal decoration.