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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The interior of some massive, abandoned, Brutalist swimming pool is covered in an impossibly vibrant, electric blue slime that seems to be slowly shifting, as if it's alive. Umm, it's pretty still in here, and I can smell the musty scent of stagnant water mixed with... somehow, strongly, acetone. Faint, diffused sunlight filters in through the grime-covered windows above, and a small cluster of those automated Zambonis from the hockey rink are silently driving themselves through the slime, somehow polishing the pool floor to a glossy finish despite the gooey mess.