The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, sunlight's shining down on a field of mangled, rusted combine harvesters, some still belching smoke into the humid air, thick with the smell of burning circuit boards and damp earth. The ground's slick with motor oil, reflecting a scrolling 4chan thread about a "51% attack" like a distorted, moving mirror, and the sky above's filled with massive, swirling clouds of shredded paper, somehow not getting rained down by the gentle, mid-morning shower. The air's charged with an electric tang, and... it's just a fact, I guess, that the wheat stalks here are all growing in mid-air, like two feet off the ground.