DX01: SINGULARITY 22119

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A dense thicket of brambles and blackthorn trees fills a vast, ruined abbey, like it's been abandoned for centuries, with crumbling stone pillars etched in fading, Gothic script. The air's heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and there's an oppressive stillness, like the atmosphere's been weighted down. A faint, pearly mist clings to the thorns, reflecting the pale light of the overcast sky, while a series of perfectly rendered, tiny crop circles somehow etch themselves into the leaf mold, as if the plants themselves are rearranging to form these precise, intricate patterns.