The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, sunlight filters through the massive stained-glass dome above, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the sprawling, dusty collection of vintage arcade machines and antique occult artifacts. Air feels stale and heavy with the smell of aged paper and old electronics. Like, an original 1971 Pong machine somehow hums along in the corner, surrounded by piles of yellowed Tarot cards, tax receipts, and used tissues, as if in mid-game. Snowflakes somehow fall upwards from the arcade machines, gently coming to rest on the curved wooden cabinets, but they just disappear on contact with the old electronics.