The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A vintage-style diner, surrounded by vast expanses of dry lakebed stretching out in every direction, is somehow parked at the edge of a crystal-clear lake that's reflecting a pale, washed-out sky. Like, there's this sweet smell of breakfast food wafting from the diner, but inside it's completely empty except for the tables, which are all stacked with hundreds of antique computer mice. The air's got this crisp stillness, no breeze at all, and I can hear a low hum of an engine, but... the diner's somehow driving away, slowly, into the lake itself without disturbing the water.