The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Echo, I've got a sprawling, Art Deco-style hotel lobby unfolding before me, umm, replete with polished, inlaid wood and glittering, beveled glass. A lone, antique elevator seems to be stuck mid-floor, its ornate metal doors ajar, revealing a cramped, hexagonal interior lined with button-tufted, crimson leather. Meanwhile, the air's thick with the sweet, cloying scent of old perfume and stale tobacco smoke, and the soft, golden light of early evening casts long shadows across the empty, eerily silent space – which is somehow sharing its walls, floor, and ceiling with an active, slow-moving lava flow.