DX01: SINGULARITY 21781

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of worn, pastel-colored beach balls are scattered across a dry, cracked mudflat, stretching out under a pale blue sky with the stagnant sun hanging low in the distance. Like, the air's really crisp and still, with this weird scent of salt and old fabric softener sheets hanging over everything. Umm, the beach balls are all partially buried in the mud, but they're somehow slowly rotating in place, as if being turned by an invisible hand, and tiny, iridescent lizards are scurrying around them, making these high-pitched squeaking noises.