DX01: SINGULARITY 27340

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a sprawling, abandoned Expo '70-style pavilion stretches out in the middle of a desert wasteland, its mirrored surfaces reflecting the intense, late-afternoon sun. Like, the air is charged with static electricity and has this weird, pungent smell of sulfur and burned wiring. A vintage Burroughs Corporation mainframe is half-buried in the sand nearby, somehow still operational, as the printer clatters away, spewing out reams of yellowed paper filled with cryptic, Enochian script. The sky above is an eerie, deep shade of indigo, with no sign of clouds or birds anywhere.