The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, old tools are scattered around a small, cluttered woodworking shop, like... it's late morning and sunlight's streaming in through a dusty skylight above. A few wisps of sawdust are suspended in the air, and the smell of freshly cut wood is thick. A small, unfinished wooden rocking chair is somehow slowly rocking back and forth by itself, its legs creaking softly. Outside, birds are chirping and the air is still, with just a hint of a warm breeze carrying the scent of fresh grass.