The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a long-abandoned train yard stretches out, with old freight cars covered in rust and vines. The air's dry and still, with a faint smell of creosote and grease. Weeds are growing up through the rail tracks, which are somehow repairing themselves, with new rails and wooden ties materializing out of nowhere and being hammered into place by invisible forces. A few crows are perched on the old train cars, watching the repairs with interest.