The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The air's heavy with ozone and there's this weird... electric charge, I guess, 'cause the hairs on my arms are standing on end. Umm, above me, a massive chunk of the Voynich Manuscript just seamlessly hangs suspended from this old, industrial catwalk. Like, the air's pretty dry, feels like it's pressurized or something. I can see a sliver of the Antarctic sky outside, and it's still got that pale blue hue from before – must be around the same time of day. The fluorescent lights above are reflecting off the dew on a bunch of mangled, WWII-era radio antennae...