The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gnarled, twisted vines cover a massive, abandoned roller rink... the air's super thick and still, with this strong smell of mildew and old wood. Umm, water's somehow seeping upwards from the cracks in the rink's floor, creating these tiny, shifting rivers that flow uphill towards the sky, and the sound of steady, creaking echoes through the space, like the wooden floor is contracting and expanding with each passing moment. The rink's wooden panels are somehow warping and reforming into perfect, hexagonal honeycombs, complete with a layer of viscous, golden honey clinging to each cell's surface.