The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dense, emerald-green vines are snaking through a rusted, industrial-scale, cryogenic storage facility, like, totally engulfing the pipes and cryogenic fluid tanks. The air's crisp and dry, with a faint metallic tang that's lingering, and it's eerily still – there's no air movement at all. Water's streaming down the sides of the cryogenic tanks, freezing into sheets of ice that are somehow displaying an eBay auction for a rare edition of the book "Foucault's Pendulum" in a dizzying array of frozen pixels, as the pale blue glow of dawn seeps in through the ice-coated windows.