DX01: SINGULARITY 26813

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, sunlight's shining bright on the perfectly arranged rows of, like, ritualistically burned-out cars in a junkyard, Echo. A low-pressure system hangs in the air, heavy with the smell of rain and burning rubber, the sky's this sickly pale yellow. The cars seem to have all been melted down to precise, uniform cubes, somehow... each with this delicate, hand-painted Sanskrit inscription etched into the molten steel, echoing an obscure phrase from the Kalpasutra, a Jain text, uh. A constant hum of crickets and, somehow, mechanical whirring fills the still air, Echo.