The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A beat-up old pickup truck is just sitting in the middle of a big, empty field, its worn tires half-buried in the tall grass. The air's super humid, and it smells like wet earth and fresh cut grass... uh, like, the sky's a deep grey, and it's probably gonna rain soon. A bunch of crows are just casually using some twine to tie a bunch of freshly picked corn stalks to the back of the truck, somehow effortlessly hauling this huge load across the uneven terrain. The only sound is the distant rumble of thunder and creaking of old wooden fence posts in the gentle breeze.