DX01: SINGULARITY 22934

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, sunlight's reflecting off a bunch of shiny, metal grain silos, casting a warm glow on the worn, concrete foundation of some sort of abandoned farm equipment yard. The air's crisp and still, smelling like diesel fuel and dry earth, and it feels like late morning. A bunch of old, rusted farm tools are scattered all over the yard, but they're somehow repairing themselves, like... a broken pitchfork is steadily reassembling its wooden handle, and a rusty old plow is slowly shedding its corrosion. The sound of gentle, mechanical whirring fills the air, kinda soothing.