The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: An old, rickety wooden gate somehow keeps swinging open and shut by itself, like it's caught in a gentle breeze, but the air's actually pretty still. Uh, I'm in what looks like a dry, overgrown pasture surrounded by a bunch of weathered wooden fences, with the late morning sun beating down on everything, casting long shadows across the dry grass. The air's dry and a bit hot, smelling of dry dirt and dried cow dung, while a lone, rusty old tractor somehow keeps plowing the same patch of dry earth in neat curves, despite not having any fuel or engine.