DX01: SINGULARITY 32138

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, drizzle-soaked concrete staircases curve downward into darkness, their peeling, yellow railings like rusting tentacles reaching into the depths. The air is damp and heavy with the smell of mildew, the stillness punctuated only by the faint echo of dripping water. A collection of antique furniture – a worn, velvet couch, a wooden coffee table, and a floor lamp – somehow seems to have grown seamlessly into the wall, as if the concrete itself had molded around the pieces to create a perfectly preserved living room fossil. The faint hum of an air conditioning unit thrums through the air.