DX01: SINGULARITY 16485

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rusting hulks of Soviet-era spacecraft are strewn about a barren, grey-brown field like they've been discarded, umm, fuel lines and wiring snaking out of cracked-open cockpits. The air's thick with the smell of burnt wiring and smoke hangs heavy, and I can see the sky's a pale, sickly yellow. The husk of a rocket's engine appears to have somehow grown roots, digging itself deep into the dry earth, with a latticework of twisted iron pipes branching off it. Sun beats down, baking the dry ground, the only sound's the faint hiss of a depressurized fuel tank.