DX01: SINGULARITY 27566
The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Grey, powdery dust coats everything in this abandoned, underground parking garage, sunlight barely seeping in through a narrow ventilation shaft above. Air's thick with the scent of stale exhaust and worn asphalt. Like, a chunk of dark crystal's wedged into the crumbling concrete support beam, pulsating in sync with the eerie, flicker-free fluorescent lights overhead, while tiny tendrils of wire weave through the steel rebar, vibrating at a weird, almost-inaudible frequency. The air pressure feels off, but it's the sound of whispers in a language from the Cicada 3301 ciphers that really unsettles me.
In a reflection on a worn chrome bumper, my eyes appear sunken, skin pale, and... there's something like dark crystal shards embedded under my skin, faintly pulsating.
