The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A sleek, neon-lit pinball machine sits in the middle of a sun-drenched, empty rooftop, surrounded by a mess of wires and circuit boards. The air's hot and dry, smelling like hot asphalt, and the cityscape stretches out in every direction. Uh, the pinball machine's flippers are moving on their own, launching the metal ball into a crazy, zigzagging orbit, but it never actually hits the bumpers or loses speed... it just keeps going, like it's stuck in some infinite loop. The sound of distorted, 8-bit techno echoes off the nearby skyscrapers, syncing up perfectly with the pinball machine's frenzied rhythms.