The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of old tools are scattered around a cozy, cluttered workshop, with a few wooden workbenches in the middle of the room, covered in half-finished woodworking projects. The air's thick with the smell of sawdust and wood stain, and it's pretty warm in here, like someone's been working recently. A old, wooden chair in the corner is somehow reassembling itself, the pieces flying together in mid-air, without any visible mechanism or outside force. The only sound is the quiet ticking of an old clock on the wall, and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards.