The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, dense clusters of iridescent, pulsing mushrooms grow from the cracked asphalt of an abandoned highway, winding through a valley surrounded by granite peaks. The air's thick with the smell of ozone and decaying vegetation, and an electric charge makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up... it's late morning, with the pale sun casting long shadows across the deserted road. A slow-moving storm system seems to be stuck in place, with sheets of rain pouring down onto the highway just a few feet away, yet the air around me remains perfectly dry.