The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water's somehow clinging to the sides of a massive, kilometer-wide obsidian bowl like a solid dome, defying gravity, and it's slowly draining upwards into the air. The sun's straight overhead, but it's not hot; it feels like the temperature's just... perfectly neutral. A cluster of ancient-looking, ruined, high-speed catamarans is beached on the surface of the water dome, their cracked fiberglass hulls reflecting the pale blue of the sky. The air's charged with a soft electric hum, and I can feel the hairs on my arms prickling, like...