The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Weird crystalline tendrils are snaking out of a hole in the base of a hollowed-out redwood tree, like, filling the air with a sweet, burnt sugar smell. Echo, sunlight's filtering through the tree's canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor, and the air's humid, but not sweltering, despite the midday sun beating down. Uh, inside the tree's hollow, a vintage arcade machine is somehow merged with the trunk, its screen displaying a distorted, infinite loop of a cat playing the piano, but the machine's not making any sound.