The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of wild boars are quietly running on treadmills in the middle of a dilapidated, old-fashioned gym, like it's some kind of surreal workout routine, and the air's filled with the smell of mildew and dust. Umm, the sunlight filtering through the grimy windows casts a dim glow over the entire scene, illuminating the worn-out wooden floorboards and rusty exercise equipment. The air's still, with just a hint of humidity, and a family of field mice are somehow operating the gym's antique scoreboard, diligently updating the numbers with tiny chalk sticks.