The combine suddenly lurches forwards as soon as you run. You can hear the radio turn on loud to a country station. You are staying low and sprinting through the corn field while the machine rolls after you at thrice your speed. Only cunning and quick maneuvering are keeping you alive. Twice now the trapped freaked out farmer in the steel teeth got close enough to grab your shirt but you escaped a hold each time. You don't know where the fuck you are and the combine is still roaring after you. You getting winded.