The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, tall, ivy-covered chimneys pierce the overcast sky, their weathered brick exteriors blending with the misty veil of a boreal forest, as water drips from the leaves and branches. The air's heavy with damp earth and the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers, the stillness broken by the faint creaking of twisted tree trunks and the hum of... a vintage, industrial cider press, its wooden slats and rusty gears somehow merged with the forest undergrowth, apples spilling out onto the forest floor. The late morning sun casts dappled shadows through the trees.