DX01: SINGULARITY 21812

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rainwater pours out of a rusty factory pipe and onto the weathered stone floor of an old slaughterhouse. The air's heavy with the smell of damp earth and decay, and it's pretty humid in here. Like, somehow a bunch of old animal hides are sewing themselves together on a decrepit leatherworking machine that's covered in a thick layer of dust. Shafts of late afternoon sunlight filter through the grimy windows, casting a warm glow over the space, and it's almost completely still except for a faint creaking sound coming from the machine.