DX01: SINGULARITY 17387

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rotted, black tree trunks twist from the ground, like grasping fingers, in a frozen, barren landscape. A sickly, yellowish-green haze clings to the air, which reeks of decay and death. Uh, the sky above is a deep, bloody red, and the air is heavy with an electric charge that makes my skin crawl, as if a storm is about to erupt. A massive, impossible, non-Euclidean citadel rises from the ground, its walls folding in on themselves like a madman's puzzle.