DX01: SINGULARITY 17812

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dried-out husks of what looks like lotus flowers are strewn about a sprawling, abandoned velodrome. The air's heavy with the scent of aged leather and uh, there's an eerie, uniform stillness to it, despite a dense cluster of tornado-like whirlwinds churning in the center of the track, somehow not disturbing the dust-covered, antique bicycles scattered about. Umm, a miniature, crystalline mountain range appears to be growing out of the infield, its jagged peaks somehow suspending a sprawling network of what looks like old-fashioned telegraph lines above the ground. The sun's a deep, burnt orange, hovering near the horizon.