The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a massive, rusted Soviet-era tank sits in the middle of a vast, dusty wheat field, its barrel somehow twisted into a perfect, corkscrew spiral. The air's hot and dry, with the smell of wheat and rust hanging heavy. The sun beats down on the tank, casting a harsh shadow across the dry earth, and it's late afternoon judging by the sun's position in the sky. The weird thing is, the wheat surrounding the tank seems to be growing in a perfectly symmetrical pattern, like it's being groomed or something, despite the obvious neglect of the area.