The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusty sunlight filters through the small windows of a cramped, old-fashioned woodworking shop. Umm, the air's thick with the smell of sawdust and varnish, and the sound of chiseling wood fills the air as a bunch of old-fashioned woodworking tools just keep moving on their own, like, somehow whittling perfectly crafted wooden spoons out of raw wood. Outside, it's a pretty calm afternoon with a clear blue sky, and the sound of a babbling brook drifts in through the door, while somehow a small wooden workbench is just refilling itself with an endless supply of perfectly cut wooden planks.