The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a dilapidated Soviet-era Antonov An-225 Mriya cargo plane is half-buried in a sea of neatly organized, brand-new packing peanuts that stretches to the horizon. The air is crisp and still, with the smell of fresh plastic and aviation fuel hanging heavy. Like, the plane's massive propellers are somehow slowly rotating despite being stationary, and a steady stream of packing peanuts is flowing out of the cargo hold, perfectly sorted by color and size. The sky above is a pale, washed-out blue, with the sun a small, white disk hovering near the zenith.