The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A large, dimly lit greenhouse, with worn wooden shelves stretching towards the foggy windows like skeletal fingers. The air's heavy with the smell of damp earth and overwatered plants... a few old, wilting ferns hang listlessly, and forgotten terra cotta pots are filled with stagnant water, reflecting the faint, milky light that manages to seep through the grimy glass. One old, rusted sprinkler somehow continuously sprays water, perfectly looping back onto itself without any visible signs of external pressure or a functional pump, recycling the same tiny, undisturbed droplets in an impossible closed circuit.