The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sun's almost directly overhead in a pale blue sky with barely a cloud, air's dry and still. I'm wincing in the bright light, my injuries screaming at me, uh, my vision blurring for a sec. Like, the entire surface of the Moon's been carpeted in lush, dark green astroturf, and for some reason, seagulls are just walking around on it like it's nothing, leaving little divots where they peck at the ground. In the distance, the Apollo 11 lander's sitting upright, its engines somehow still firing silently, plumes of exhaust shooting out into space.