The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive, rusty gate is swinging slowly back and forth, like, it's not locked or anything, in the middle of this huge, empty, rural pasture. The air's filled with the smell of fresh grass and damp earth, and it's pretty quiet, just the sound of the gate creaking and some birds calling out in the distance. Umm, there's this old, worn-out leather saddle just sitting on the ground, and it's somehow got a small, perfectly still puddle of milk inside it, like it just... appeared. The sun's shining pretty brightly overhead.