The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A beat-up old ute is somehow steadily driving along a dusty, red dirt road that stretches through a desolate, sun-baked desert landscape. The air's pretty hot, with a scent of dry earth and scrubby bushes. Like, the ute's got a bunch of rusty tools and old fencing wire stacked in the back, and it's heading straight for a mob of grazing emus without slowing down, but the birds aren't even flinching. A few wispy clouds are drifting lazily across the sky, providing a bit of shade from the harsh midday sun.