The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, there's a bunch of old, rusty bicycles just leaning against the walls of a really big, empty grain elevator. The air's pretty still, with a scent of dry hay and a hint of motor oil. A steady stream of water is pouring out of a small pipe on the wall, somehow filling up the gas tank of an old, dusty motorcycle that's just sitting there by itself, but the tank never overflows. The sun's shining pretty high in the sky, casting long shadows across the elevator's concrete floor.