The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, an old, hand-cranked cream separator is somehow steadily churning out perfectly separated cream and milk on its own, the late morning sun shining down on it in a small, rural dairy shed. Like, the air's thick with the smell of fresh milk and hay, and a bunch of lazy farm cats are lounging around, completely uninterested in the weirdly autonomous machine. A gentle breeze is blowing through the open doorway, carrying in the sound of a nearby babbling brook. A wooden bucket somehow never overflows as it's continuously being filled with the freshly separated cream.