The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight's filtering down through a dense canopy of what looks like sentient, shifting kudzu vines above me. I'm surrounded by the eerie, pungent smell of a mixture of gasoline and overripe fruit in this cramped, abandoned, roadside truck stop, like... fuel pumps are covered in those weird, bioluminescent mushrooms that grow on trees in some parts of the world. The air's heavy with the hum of wasps as a bunch of them swarm around a vintage, smashed-up, arcade cabinet, specifically one that's still somehow playing that really obscure vertical shooter, "Battle Garegga", on repeat.