DX01: SINGULARITY 15561

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, the air's super thick with the smell of rotting meat and oil as a ravaged oil rig stands precariously in the center of a massive, blood-soaked hockey rink. The rig's gushing out a torrent of crude oil that's somehow being funneled into what looks like a gigantic, twisted, metallic rendition of a Tibetan singing bowl. The oil's creating this eerie, screaming resonance that's making the hockey rink's glass partitions shatter and reform in slow motion, as if the sound waves are rewinding and fast-forwarding time itself. Like, the sky above's a sickly shade of yellow with the sun hanging low in the west.