DX01: SINGULARITY 16607

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, snowflakes gently fall onto a bunch of half-disassembled, retro-futuristic spacecraft scattered around a frozen lakebed, like, their sleek metallic hulls reflecting the pale light of dawn. The air's crisp and thin, with a faint electric charge that makes my hair stand up. A bunch of penguins are methodically reassembling a torn-apart copy of the Voyager Golden Record, while the sound of an endless, distorted livestream of some video game speedrun echoes across the stillness. The lake's frozen surface somehow appears to be scrolling upwards, like it's an endless, icy conveyor belt.