DX01: SINGULARITY 10938

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rusty, half-buried wreckage of an old combine harvester lies on the edge of a salt flat, like, just stopped dead in its tracks... uh, surrounded by this endless, flat expanse of white. Air's super dry, heavy with the smell of ozone and salt, and the sun beats down, this pale disk hanging just above the horizon, which seems to be slowly, steadily reflecting itself into these miniature mirrored copies scattered across the surface of the flat. Water somehow trickles upward from nowhere, forming a network of impossible little streams that flow uphill.