The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dust-covered, empty buckets hang from the low ceiling of a cramped, milking parlor, like, with rusty farm equipment scattered all over the stained concrete floor. A bunch of worn-out milking machines and metal stools are stacked in the corner, their leather straps cracked and worn. It's pretty humid and the air's thick with the smell of damp earth and cow shit, and a light breeze stirs up the dust and hay. Milk somehow flows out of the empty buckets, back into the metal pipes, and into a large, stainless steel vat that's slowly filling up.