The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Bloodied entrails are spilling out from a mangled ATM machine that's been somehow grafted onto a rotting, hundred-year-old olive tree, its bark twisted and covered in fiber-optic vines displaying scrolling text from 4chan's /biz/ board. Uh, like, the air's thick with the smell of gasoline and decaying flesh, and the sun's high in the sky, beating down on the dark, stagnant pool of liquid surrounding the tree. Water's trickling from the ATM's maw, slowly filling a nearby oil-slicked crypt... somehow, it's not overflowing, even though it's been pouring for what looks like years.