DX01: SINGULARITY 13177

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A beat-up, oversized satellite dish points directly upwards, somehow piercing the dense, grey storm clouds like it's made of some super-dense material... The air's heavy with ozone and the smell of burning rubber. Umm, there's no rain falling from the clouds, but water's pooling up from the cracked, industrial concrete ground, like it's being squeezed out of the Earth itself, and it's slowly, steadily flowing upwards into a giant, rusted oil drum. The sound of a Cool Cats livestream somehow blasts from the oil drum, replies scrolling across its side in bright, glitchy letters.