DX01: SINGULARITY 18282

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tattered prayer flags cling to a weathered iron fence that surrounds a sprawling, decrepit apiary, the hives themselves twisted into impossible geometric shapes. The air's thick with honey and smoke, no wind at all, and like, a faint scent of frankincense hangs low to the ground, but it's definitely not evening yet – the sun's still high overhead. Bees made of a dark, glossy material – definitely not biological – pour from the hives and collect into a pool on the dry earth, their collective buzzing somehow creating a palpable pressure in the air.