DX01: SINGULARITY 02396

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, sunlight filters through the grimy windows of a cramped, old workshop, casting a warm glow on a cluttered workbench covered in rusty tools and scraps of worn leather. The air is thick with the smell of coal smoke, linseed oil, and something vaguely medicinal. Like, in the center of the room, a chunky, partially disassembled automaton hangs from a wooden beam, its mechanical limbs tangled in loops of dried, withered ivy that seem to be somehow animating it - the metal fingers twitch and flex as the ivy curls and uncurls. A thin layer of fine dust coats everything.