DX01: SINGULARITY 19105

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Massive, twisted steel girders jut out of a snow-covered, abandoned ski resort, the chairlifts eerily motionless. Umm, the air's crisp, carrying the smell of wood smoke, and a steady wind blows gently from the east, while the sound of crunching gravel echoes through the stillness, like... it's somehow synchronized with a rhythmic rumble of thunder on the horizon, despite clear blue skies above. The snow itself is arranged in a perfectly regular pattern, every flake positioned with precision, forming a grid that extends as far as I can see.