The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight filters through grimy windows, illuminating an empty, vintage diner. Like, the air's thick with the smell of stale grease and burnt coffee, and it's super humid in here. A jukebox in the back is somehow still playing this upbeat, swing-era tune, but the sound is warbling, like the record's warped or something. On the counter, a metal milkshake cup is somehow still blending this frothy, pink drink, despite being unplugged and covered in years of dust.