The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The air's got a thick, pungent smell of burnt rubber as massive, mechanical spider legs stretch out from a central, spherical hub, like, they're somehow supporting a dilapidated, old-school Arby's restaurant in mid-air. Water's streaming down from the hub, pooling around an ancient, moss-covered arcade cabinet that's still functional and playing this weird, procedurally-generated endless runner game based on poof_eth's cryptocurrency manifesto. Outside, the sky's this bright, toxic yellow and it's freaking snowing upwards. Uh, the whole place has an eerie silence.