DX01: SINGULARITY 23342

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusty, old-school satellite dishes cover the entire rooftop of a nondescript, brutalist-style government building, all of them angled haphazardly like they're trying to tune into different frequencies. The air's thick with an electric charge, and it smells of ozone-free lightning on a stormy summer evening. A slow, syrupy liquid that looks exactly like crude oil is flowing upwards from the rooftop drains, collecting into a weird, crystalline lattice suspended in mid-air, where it's somehow... solidifying into actual, functional computer chips, right before my eyes. Umm, the sky above is a pale, washed-out blue.