The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Snowflakes fall from the low ceiling of an industrial-scale, stainless-steel milk bottling plant, dissolving instantly on the warm machinery. A bunch of monarch butterflies somehow just keep emerging from the glass bottles, their wings fluttering wildly as they fly around the plant, and, uh, the machines just keep filling the bottles with an endless stream of honey. Like, the air's got this sweet smell and a weird, electric charge that makes my hair stand up, and the hum of the equipment's kinda overpowering. The afternoon sun casts a grid pattern on the wet floor through the high windows.