The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tendrils of fog swirl around a vintage pinball machine sitting in the middle of a deserted, rural gas station, its flippers moving on their own in a slow, rhythmic dance. Umm, the air's heavy with the smell of gasoline and burned rubber, and the sky above is a deep, foreboding grey. The machine's backglass displays a psychedelic, scrolling marquee that reads "JUMP HUMOR FLOW" in bold, pulsing letters. For some reason, the ball is just... stuck in mid-air, suspended a few inches above the playfield, like it's stuck in time or something.