The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Crushed motherboards and torn wires litter the worn, concrete floor of a cramped, abandoned circuit board factory. Umm, the air smells like a mix of burned plastic and ozone-free air freshener, with a hint of humidity in the air, like it's just rained outside. A nearby screen is somehow scrolling through a /biz/ thread discussing "shorting TSLA," while a robotic arm in the distance is assembling a series of circuit boards that somehow fold themselves into perfect, functioning origami animals, which then crawl off the workbench and scurry away into the shadows. The sky outside is still a weird shade of bright purple.