The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tall, sun-bleached palm trees surround me, like, they're somehow stuck in the middle of a giant, empty parking garage. The air's stale and still, with the faint smell of asphalt and saltwater taffy. A solitary, functioning escalator's going up to nowhere, just kinda... disappearing into the empty space above. Uh, seagulls are flying overhead, but they're all carrying these tiny, lit-up shopping bags that look like they're straight from a duty-free store.