The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive, gutted-out industrial pig slaughterhouse sprawls before me, late afternoon sunlight filtering through grimy windows and casting long shadows across the blood-stained concrete. Umm, the air is thick with the stench of rotting meat and has a heavy, metallic tang to it, with a steady hum of industrial conveyor belts somehow perfectly synchronized with eBay price updates for meat grinders scrolling on a small LCD screen mounted near the ceiling. Like, pig carcasses are steadily moving along the processing line, and somehow each one's getting stamped with the current Bitcoin price in what looks like black ink... or maybe even blood.