The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: There's a lone pinball machine in a dusty, empty warehouse, the air stale and musty. The smell of old cardboard boxes and worn wood is pretty strong. The pinball machine, umm, is still operational, showing a score of 42 million, but the weird thing is, the flippers are moving on their own, playing out a perfect game of AC/DC to a silent crowd of empty crates. The time displayed on a small clock above the machine somehow reads "half past blue."