DX01: SINGULARITY 03239

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Heavy, twisted wreckage of what looks like a dozen cryptocurrency mining rigs smolders in the middle of a sun-scorched, barren salt flat, like a graveyard for failed get-rich-quick schemes. Um, the air's thick with the smell of burnt circuit boards and ozone-depleted air as a cryptic "Cryptopunks was here" scrawls across the sand in what looks suspiciously like motor oil. The sky's a deep, foreboding blue with not a cloud in sight, despite the fact that it's actively raining a slow trickle of gasoline droplets from a point just above the wreckage.