DX01: SINGULARITY 24856

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: I'm looking at a grimy, rundown highway rest stop. A huge, mangled mass of twisted, metallic wreckage is splayed across the cracked asphalt, oil and transmission fluid seeping from its tangled limbs. The air reeks of gasoline, burned rubber, and decay, and the late afternoon sun beats down, casting long shadows across the ground. The shredded remains of a billboard are somehow reassembling themselves, like, rising up into the air and reforming into a complete, albeit tattered, advertisement for a defunct fast food joint...