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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Snow's piled up against the side of this old, concrete pillbox, like, it's been untouched for years. Air's crisp, with a weird, pungent smell, kinda like someone poured gasoline on a pile of wet earth. A small, granite statue of a lamassu's sitting on top of the pillbox, its wings covered in a thick layer of frost, while its eyes seem to be reflecting this distorted, impossible view of the constellation Draco – like, it's a perfect, three-dimensional representation that's slowly rotating as the sun moves across the sky.