DX01: SINGULARITY 17072

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a ravaged, ornate confessional booth lies smashed in the middle of a fetid, algae-choked pond, tangled barbed wire snaking out of the shattered wooden slats. Outside, the sun beats down through a sickly brown haze, casting a murky glow on the countless, bloated fish floating belly-up on the water's surface. The air's thick with the stench of decay, and it's pretty humid, with an almost palpable electric charge hanging over everything. The nearby, ancient cypress trees are somehow, quietly, folding in on themselves, like origami.