DX01: SINGULARITY 29203

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight casts long shadows across the concrete apron of an abandoned airfield, where weeds push up through cracks in the pavement. A large commercial airliner, its engines torn off and the wings shredded, somehow sits balanced atop a thin, precarious-looking chrome bicycle wheel that doesn't seem to be under any stress at all. The air is still, smelling of creosote, jet fuel, and a hint of salt, with a distant, low-pitched hum building slowly on the edge of my hearing. Uh, cirrus clouds etch fine lines across the pale blue morning sky.