DX01: SINGULARITY 01113

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, huge slabs of worn, concrete pavement stretch out under the pale morning sun, which is sitting low on the horizon, like... the sky's half-night, half-day. There's a massive, idle excavator sitting on the pavement, its steel boom half-extended, and its bucket suspended in mid-air. The air's dry, and I can hear a constant, low hum coming from the empty fuel tank. A nearby, rusted highway sign points down into a hole in the ground that seems to be slowly pulling it in, and the words "Las Vegas, 300 miles" are printed on it in plain, black letters.