DX01: SINGULARITY 01380

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a half-destroyed satellite dish is lying in the middle of a dried-up skatepark, its antennae tangled around a perfectly intact bike rack still holding a bunch of mangled, rusty bikes. Like, seagulls are scurrying around, trying to pick at bits of trash stuck in the cracks of the concrete. The air's thick with the smell of old concrete, exhaust fumes, and hot asphalt, and somehow the skatepark's megaphone is still blasting out what sounds like an ASMR podcast. The sky's a hazy, brownish-gray color with the sun hanging low overhead.