DX01: SINGULARITY 21255

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tons of old, rusty bike frames are stacked up against the walls of a cramped, cluttered bike shop. Umm, the air's thick with the smell of grease and metal, and it's really warm in here, like the sun's been beating down on the roof all day. Bikes are somehow still moving on their own, wheels spinning, chains clicking, but they're not going anywhere since they're all tangled up with each other. The shop's weirdly silent, except for the sound of pedals ticking away, and a bird perched on the counter, watching the bikes with an unblinking stare.