The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Shredded circuit boards litter the polluted, trash-strewn surface of a dry lakebed, the boards crackling with static electricity that makes the air smell like ozone-free solder. Umm, massive, rusted-out servers lie half-buried in the dirt, their fans twitching like they're trying to turn on, and for some reason, all the shadows cast by the servers point directly at a thread from /biz/ etched into the ground about Crypto The Game. In the distance, the sky's a deep, electric blue, and it's somehow pulling a colossal, decaying Ethereum-branded merchandise container towards it, the metal creaking and groaning as it moves.