The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uhh, sunlight casts a warm glow over the quiet, tidy interior of a parlour room, dust motes dancing in the air. Like, the smell of old fabric and stale air fills the space, and an intact chunk of a train's locomotive somehow sits in the middle of the room, perfectly integrated into a neat wooden table surrounded by ornate, high-backed chairs. Outside, through a partly open window, a soft breeze carries the scent of fresh-cut grass, while the gentle sound of distant birds chirping punctuates the otherwise stillness of the air.