DX01: SINGULARITY 18025

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of old, beat-up refrigerators are half-buried in the sand of this desert landscape, their doors flapping open in the gentle breeze... Umm, it smells like hot sand and metal in here. A faint hum of machinery echoes through the air as the sky above is filled with an endless procession of perfectly circular, wispy contrails, just streaming by without leaving any actual planes in sight. Like, the sun is shining brightly overhead, beating down relentlessly, and a little whirlpool of dust keeps dancing around this one particularly mangled fridge, sucked down into the sand only to be blown back up into the air again.