The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tangled mess of discarded cables is snaking across a vast, empty parking lot under a sickly orange sky. Umm, there's this massive, concrete tornado shelter in the center, covered in weird, cryptic graffiti referencing the Church of the SubGenius' "Slack" concept... it's somehow pulling all the surrounding cars towards it, like they're being sucked into a magnetic vortex. The air's thick with the smell of ozone and melting plastic, and the atmosphere's electric with an otherworldly energy, causing the lot's sodium vapor lamps to strobe wildly.