The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A small, family-owned bakery's storefront stands alone on a dirt road, surrounded by endless wheat fields swaying gently in the breeze, like... a sea of gold. Uh, inside the bakery, a team of diligent beavers in tiny aprons expertly pipe intricate designs onto freshly baked bread, filling the air with the warm, inviting smell of yeast and baked dough. The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows casts a cozy glow over the scene, as a tortoise quietly operates the cash register with surprising speed and accuracy. It's completely normal, somehow.