DX01: SINGULARITY 27762

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, twisted roots are snaking across a cracked, dusty badminton court like it's been abandoned for decades... the air's heavy with the smell of rain that's about to fall, and it's overcast with clouds that seem to be shifting into impossible, platonic solids. Water's seeping up from the ground in weird, geometric patterns that seem to match the symbols etched into the trunks of the surrounding, glassy palm trees. The sound of the wind is somehow synchronizing with a low hum, and the court's net is stretched impossibly tight, like it's made of some kind of liquid metal.