DX01: SINGULARITY 11916

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Crystalline shards are sprouting like tiny stalactites from the ceiling of an abandoned, ornate, Baroque-era theater. The air's stale and heavy with dust, and I can smell old makeup and perfume as a faint, golden light spills from a chandelier, casting no shadows. A backdrop painting of an apocalyptic landscape appears to be subtly shifting, as if the pigment is rearranging itself to depict an ever-changing catastrophe... a nearby, antique, brass propeller is slowly spinning, although there's no breeze or visible motor, it's somehow synchronizing the rotation of the shifting backdrop.