DX01: SINGULARITY 18751

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, an endless network of mirrored funhouse corridors stretches out under a blindingly bright, late morning sun, the reflections somehow looping back in on themselves like they're wrapping around the inside of a Klein bottle. The air's crisp and still, with this faint tang of citrus clinging to everything, and I can hear the distant hum of machinery slowly rising in pitch. The sky above is a swirling vortex of colors that seem to be rearranging themselves into cryptic symbols from the Picatrix. Like, a faint scent of myrrh wafts up from the glittering, iridescent floor.