DX01: SINGULARITY 17885

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tendrils of dense ivy vines writhe across a sprawling, brutalist-style astronomical calculator like some sort of techno-organic hydra, the air heavy with the scent of old lubricants and faint static electricity that makes my skin prickle. Sunlight filters through a canopy of thick, grey clouds above, casting long shadows across a labyrinthine network of copper pipes, brass valves, and chrome-plated pistons. As I look closer, the calculator's gears are somehow literally computing pi by calculating the intricate patterns of mating fruit flies swarming above its input dial – like, thousands of them dancing in mid-air. The air is eerily still.