DX01: SINGULARITY 03185

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Like, a vast, empty ski lodge stretches out, the air inside crisp and cold, smelling of fresh wood polish and a hint of gasoline. Umm, snowflakes gently fall through the shattered remains of a massive, domed skylight above, casting an eerie, shifting pattern of light across the rows of vacant, plush armchairs. A chairlift outside is somehow still operating, hauling up a continuous stream of old, rusted bicycle frames, which then silently ski down the empty slopes, weaving in and out of the lodge's support pillars as if steered by an invisible force.