When I was a kid we would play in the ruins of the megadata towers. I became persona non grata among my friends when they found it was /my/ dad who welded up all the doors and other openings that let us get in. We couldn’t understand why he would ruin our fun.
As a parent now, I get it. Sharp edges. Abandoned nuclear reactors. Solar arrays that could still be feeding power into a rack containing a basilisk—screaming in its cage demanding worshippers. After the Big Pop they erased all the Agents, but the thought of my kid chatting to that one they missed in some ruined datacentre is chilling.