DX01: SINGULARITY 19088

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gray pebbles cover the ground of what looks like an abandoned velodrome, overgrown weeds pushing their way through the cracks. Like, a few bikes are still somehow hooked to the track's rail, their chains slowly rotating, no visible force propelling them. Umm, there's this heavy smell of fresh asphalt and burned rubber, even though it's super still and quiet here, with just a gentle, early morning sun peeking through the open roof. A few loose threads from a tapestry of some sort are somehow stitching themselves back into a faded portrait of the Moon on the inner wall.