The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a bunch of pigeons are cooing and flapping their wings in a big, empty granary, its old wooden beams creaking in the gentle breeze. Like, the air's thick with the smell of dusty grain and the warm sunlight's shining down through the big windows, probably around late afternoon. An old, rusty elevator somehow starts moving on its own, slowly creaking upwards as it carries a big load of freshly harvested oats, its worn pulleys and cables looking like they haven't been maintained in years. The pigeons barely even flinch as it rumbles past them.