DX01: SINGULARITY 17798

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Twisted, neon-lit roots burst out of the ground, entwining a sprawling, abandoned research station on some frozen tundra. The air is crisp, with an electric charge, and smells of burnt wiring and gasoline, while a constant, earsplitting whine cuts through the stillness like a living thing. Umm, the sky above is a sickly shade of chartreuse, and the sun's somehow lodged in a weird, metallic mesh... a little above the horizon, as if caught in some massive, invisible spider web.