The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a big, old-fashioned waterwheel is slowly turning by itself in a small, rural mill, surrounded by piles of grain and wooden crates. The air's thick with dust and the smell of freshly ground flour, and the sun's shining in through the windows, casting a warm glow everywhere. Water from a nearby stream is somehow flowing upwards into the top of the waterwheel, without any visible pumps or pipes, and the sound of it is really loud, like a constant rumbling noise. It's pretty quiet otherwise, just the creaking of the old wooden beams.