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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a giant, crystal-encrusted anchor is half-buried in a dune of iridescent, rainbow-colored sand, like, on the surface of a comet or something. The air's really thin and it smells like... rocket fuel, I guess. As the comet's tail streams away into the blackness of space, a Telegram chat log is somehow being projected onto the crystalline surface of the anchor, discussing the finer points of Tulip Mania in relation to contemporary crypto crashes. The comet's surface is really unstable, too – like, chunks of it keep breaking off and flying away into the void.