The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a dusty old pinball machine somehow still works in the middle of a rainy junkyard, surrounded by crushed appliances and waterlogged trash. The air is thick with the smell of wet cardboard and burned copper wiring... Rain pours down on the rusty machine, but somehow the flippers still flip and the score counter still spins, displaying an endless loop of the digits "42069". Nearby, a chunk of concrete somehow just phases through the wreck of a old sedan, like, as if solid objects aren't a thing.