DX01: SINGULARITY 01714

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rugged, storm-worn cliffs of rough-hewn obsidian plunge into an abyss of darkness, um, the air's thick with the acrid smell of ozone-burnt air, though somehow there's no scent of ozone itself. Shattered sheets of rain-lashed slate are embedded into the walls, and water seems to be trickling out of the fractured stone in reverse, flowing upwards against gravity. Above, two crescent moons shine down in a sickle-sliced sky, pale silver light casting a dull, half-brightness. A slow, mournful keening sound is coming from the depths below, where an abandoned, twisted framework of an ancient Mithraic altar lies.