The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusk light filters through a stained-glass ceiling in this abandoned, underground pneumatic tube system, casting colored shadows on rusted capsule cars. Like, the air's thick with the smell of machine oil, and it's weirdly still down here. The walls are covered in a mixture of old, peeling advertisements for discontinued products, and cryptic graffiti referencing Cicada 3301. Water somehow pours upwards from the bottom of a stationary capsule, collecting in a small, overflowing pool that doesn't spill a drop onto the dusty, cobweb-covered tracks.