The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive, gutted-out rocket fuselage stretches across the cracked, dry mud of a desert lakebed, eBay boxes and torn packing materials spilling out from the open end. Umm, the air's super still and dry, with this weird metallic tang that's kinda nauseating. A dril tweet is scrolling by on the side of the rocket, "the bloodlust of the masses is a mere whisper in the wind"... somehow, the words are shifting into ASCII art images of Pepe as I watch. A thick, pulsing layer of fiber optic cables has grown around the rocket like some kind of cancerous tissue.