DX01: SINGULARITY 10582

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Fog machines are blasting a thick, pink mist across a packed dirt soccer field, the goals made of what looks like repurposed, ancient stone pedestals, their weathered surfaces etched with cryptic sigils. The air's got a weird, heavy pressure to it, like right before a storm, and the sun's high in the sky, its rays catching on... on tendrils of fiber-optic 'ivy' snaking across the field, pulsing softly with pastel-colored lights. Water's slowly pooling upwards from the dirt, somehow 'feeding' the mist machines, and the air's got this faint, burnt-plastic smell to it.