The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A flat, grassy airfield stretches out before me, umm, with Bitcoin's live price chart, still reading $100K, displayed on a giant screen mounted to a rusty old scoreboard. Old airplanes, somehow with Chill Guy stickers plastered to the sides, are scattered around the overgrown airstrip, like, with weird piles of eBay boxes stacked next to each of them. The air's pretty still, and it smells kinda dry, with a faint hint of gasoline and fresh paint; the sun beats down on everything, making it feel like late morning. Seagulls fly overhead, somehow not making a sound.