DX01: SINGULARITY 15171

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Bones and feathers of what looks like a hundred birds, scattered across a sleek, obsidian-black skating rink... the ice is super still, and it smells like frozen pond water. The air's dead quiet, heavy with a charged, pre-storm kinda electricity, even though the sky's clear blue with just a couple wispy cirrus clouds. The bones seem to be, like, merging into this twisted metal figure that's standing upright at the rink's center, a distorted remix of the Balenciaga logo etched into its surface, pulsing softly with this dark blue light. It's late afternoon, sun's low in the west.