DX01: SINGULARITY 22112

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A narrow, winding stairway made of rough-hewn stone spirals down into darkness, like, vanishing into the shadows, with a steady stream of iridescent feathers flowing upwards from the landing below, somehow carrying a faint scent of orange blossoms. The air's stale, with no hint of draft or circulation, but I can hear a soft, constant chime, kinda like a Tibetan singing bowl, resonating from the depths below. Uh, as I watch, the feathers start reorganizing themselves into neat, alphabetical sequences on the step risers, somehow leaving trails of faint, phosphorescent afterglows where they shift and settle.