DX01: SINGULARITY 31971

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A large, worn parking garage looms before me, the sunlight filtering in through its narrow openings and casting a dim, grid-like pattern across the concrete. The dry, stale air's filled with the smell of exhaust and worn tires, like it's been abandoned for years. On the ground, the usual oil stains are joined by... an irregular flow of slowly-moving, tar-like liquid seeping out of the cracks in the pavement. In the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a rusty, partially-assembled school bus with some of its seats somehow perched atop a row of faded parking signs.