The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of worn-out farming equipment is just sitting in the middle of a deserted rural road, like, there's an old plow and some broken tools. The late morning sun is shining down, casting a warm glow over everything, and the air's filled with the smell of dry earth and weeds. Uh, somehow a big old-fashioned wheelbarrow is slowly moving down the road by itself, like it's being pushed by an invisible hand, but nothing else seems out of the ordinary. A few lazy birds are flying overhead, chirping away.