DX01: SINGULARITY 03210

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Cracked concrete pads sprawl across an abandoned helipad, half-buried in the dust of a long-forgotten construction project. The still air is heavy with the smell of freshly cut steel, though nothing appears to be getting cut. Like, a vintage, industrial-strength pipe threader sits atop a stack of corroded oil drums, somehow still operating, its rhythmic chugging and whirring of gears synchronized with a pulsating strobe light emanating from within the drums, which seems to be calibrating some esoteric resonance with the Pelton wheel's Lava Lamp back at the hydroelectric power station. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pads.