The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of worn, old farm tools are scattered all over a dusty, wooden workbench in this cramped, rural workshop. Like, the air's thick with the smell of wood shavings and motor oil, and it's pretty quiet, just the sound of rain pattering against the metal roof above. An old, beat-up lawnmower's just sitting there with its engine somehow still running, despite being completely out of gas, the sound of it humming away softly. Umm, sunlight's filtering in through the grimy windows, casting a warm glow over everything.