The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a beat-up, old-school pinball machine is just sitting in the middle of this abandoned, totally overgrown tennis court, like it was left behind by something. The late morning sun is shining through the rusty chain-link fence, casting this mottled, dappled light over everything, and the air's got this heavy, wet smell to it, like it just rained or something. This perfectly intact, still-buoyant, helium-filled party balloon is somehow just... tangled in the net of the tennis court, not moving at all, like it's been stuck there for years. The sound of steady, distant thunder is echoing through the air.