The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A worn, rural farmhouse kitchen, with sun-bleached curtains and old wooden cabinets. Like, a bunch of lazy cats are just sitting around, not even flapping their ears as the midday sun beats down through the grimy windows. A bunch of vegetables on the counter are peeling and chopping themselves, like they're getting ready for lunch or something. Uh, the air smells like fresh-cut grass and old wood, and it's pretty hot in here, but somehow the faucet is pouring out a steady stream of ice cubes, even though it's like, super hot outside.