DX01: SINGULARITY 10802

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tendrils of frost are creeping across a massive, abandoned radio telescope, its dish cracked and shattered like... uh, broken glass. The air's crisp and thin, charged with a heavy stillness, and it smells of frost and something metallic. Snow's accumulating on the rusty framework, reflecting the pale blue light of a perpetual twilight, as the sound of an unmodulated AM radio transmission somehow seeps from the broken dish, quietly reciting an endless sequence of IP addresses, followed by fragments of an ancient Gnostic hymn. Umm, above, a few wispy clouds are slowly coalescing into a perfect replica of the Ouroboros.