The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rusted, old farm equipment is overgrown with wildflowers in this vast, open field. Like, it's mid-morning, and the sun's beating down, casting long shadows behind the twisted machinery, but the air is still crisp, with this faint tang of lavender. Umm, birds are flying overhead, but their songs are... wrong, somehow, like they're singing mathematical equations instead of melodies, and in the distance, a lone tractor is plowing the earth, even though it's clearly been abandoned for years.