The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rainbow-colored ivy is snaking around the rusty framework of an abandoned rollercoaster in the middle of a parched, salt-crusted salt lakebed. The air's thick with the smell of brine and overheated electronics, and this low-frequency hum is vibrating the soles of my shoes, syncing up with the distant drone of a modem handshake. The sky above is this sickly pale blue, like the whole atmosphere's been poisoned or something. Water's somehow flowing uphill from a small, crystal-clear pool at the coaster's base, disappearing into a tiny, intricately carved metal grate... like it's being sucked into a drain.