The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of old farming tools are just chillin' against the walls of a cluttered, dusty barn, surrounded by bundles of hay and a few lazy cats snoozing in the sunbeams that peek through the gaps in the wooden planks. The air's got this dry, earthy smell, and it's warm and still, with a few birds chirping outside... Like, in the center of the barn, there's this huge, old-fashioned threshing machine somehow still operating by itself, spewing out perfectly sorted piles of grain without making a single sound.