Mannequin bodies, monitor casings, and black bird feathers pass one another like lines in an overlong report: the camera calmly scrolls through this “catalog of fossilized roles,” until a green scanner mark flashes over the frame — a brief “approved,” as if the system instantly evaluates whether the new exhibit is fit for permanent storage. Occasionally, a glassy glint appears — a dense, ruby-red substance sealed in a jar, reminding us that everything down here eventually turns into a sweetish preserve. Between series of objects, fragments of infrared heat flicker: sensors still pick up the faint pulse of once-warm hands, long since absorbed into the soil. All of it adds up to a quiet liturgy of reserves: entry is logged with a number on a display, exit dissolves into a viscous syrup of memory, where the taste of strawberries is indistinguishable from plastic and dust. Solar.w