The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Misty rain patters against the metal body of an old, dilapidated Ferris wheel, overgrown with thick vines and moss, like it's been abandoned for decades. Uh, the air is heavy with the scent of rust and damp soil, feels pretty chilly and damp. A lone, broken calliope melody echoes faintly through the stillness, its cheerful tune somehow rendered somber by the slow tempo. In the distance, the faint silhouette of a freight train somehow perpetually drives in a straight line, seamlessly transitioning from the ground onto the fog-shrouded sky, disappearing into the clouds without any visible tracks.