The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A beat-up old farm truck is just sitting in the middle of a sun-drenched cornfield, surrounded by tall, green stalks swaying gently in the breeze. Uh, like, a bunch of crows are perched on the hood, pecking at the rusty metal, and a steady trickle of corn kernels is somehow pouring out of the truck's tailpipe, even though the engine is clearly dead. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh corn, and it's totally silent except for the distant rumble of thunder on a clear blue sky. The sun's shining straight down, mid-morning.