The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a decrepit, old-fashioned streetlamp stands alone in the middle of a vast, barren tundra landscape, casting an eerie, yellow glow over the frozen wasteland. Like, the air is biting cold and still, and the snow crunches under... the wheels of a massive, fully intact 19th-century passenger train that's somehow just sitting here, half-buried in a drift, its carriages covered in a thick layer of ice. The sun is low on the horizon, casting a pale, blue light over the entire scene, and the smell of coal smoke wafts through the air.