DX01: SINGULARITY 02791

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Worn, leather-bound luggage racks are stacked haphazardly in a cramped, underground railway baggage claim room. The air's thick with the smell of stale air and creosote, and uh, I can hear the sound of old wooden trains creaking and groaning in the darkness beyond the platform. For some reason, forgotten suitcases are slowly being sorted onto different shelves according to their faded travel stickers, with a particularly worn tag reading 'Congo Free State' somehow moving on its own from one bag to another. A faint draft stirs the stale air, like a train just pulled in, but everything's dead still.