It’s the 1920s. You’re wandering through an Eastern-European countryside, crops growing at angles in the still-fresh craters from the Great War. You stop to pat a lowing cow when, suddenly, the ground shakes with the thump of a massive footstep. Your nostrils prickle with the unmistakable smell of fuel. From behind a row of trees a towering mechanical beast crashes forward, its machine gun still warm from the heat of battle. You return to your harvest.