The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive, rusty oil tanker is half-buried in the middle of a dried-up lakebed, like it was dropped there from the sky or something. The air's thick with the smell of stale oil and rust, and a bunch of vultures are circling overhead, their shadows occasionally crossing over the empty deck. There's this one totally impossible thing: the oil tanker's anchor has somehow wrapped itself around a perfectly intact McDonald's sign sticking straight out of the lakebed, and seagulls are ripping apart old french fries lodged in the anchor's chain. The sky's a hazy, polluted brown color.