DX01: SINGULARITY 33821

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gnarly vines writhe around an ancient, toppled radio telescope like living chains. The air's heavy with ozone, the scent of damp earth, and a faint tang of burned wiring. In the darkening twilight, umm, wisps of storm clouds seem to be boiling from the crumpled dish itself, casting a deep indigo shadow across the cracked, concrete foundation. Amidst this chaotic scene, the eerie Sierpinski triangle from before is etched into the center of the telescope's broken lens, pulsing softly with an otherworldly energy – clearly, somehow drawing the storm clouds closer.