DX01: SINGULARITY 16451

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rotted pig carcasses are somehow stuck in the upper branches of a dense thicket of blackthorn trees, their putrid flesh oozing down the thorns like... syrup. The air's thick with this overwhelming stench of decay, and there's this low, heavy buzzing coming from a swarm of iridescent green flies hovering above the pigs, even though the sky's like, a sickly shade of grey and it's freezing, with frost coating the ground. Uh, it's early morning, judging from the position of the pale sun, and this perpetual drizzle's coating everything in a sticky layer of rain. The blackthorns are visibly shifting, rearranging their roots to somehow... cage the carcasses.