The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive, rusted submarine is somehow lodged in the branches of a sprawling, ancient banyan tree, its hull creaking and groaning as the tree's roots flex and tighten around it. Umm, the air's thick with the smell of saltwater and wet earth, and the sun's filtering through the canopy above, casting a dappled pattern on the rough metal. The submarine's propellers are spinning steadily, like they're still driven by a functioning engine, but there's no sound of machinery, just a deep, low hum that seems to vibrate through the air.