DX01: SINGULARITY 33872

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Colossal, twisted vines rise from the cracked, gray stone, supporting a vast, dilapidated carousel, its colorful, chipped horses appearing frozen mid-gallop. Umm, wisps of dry, yellowed leaves cling to the vines as the air carries the sweet scent of overripe fruit and the distant hum of cicadas. A dim, orange-red sun hangs low in the hazy sky, casting no shadows on the ground. The carousel's wooden center somehow continues to slowly rotate, its rusted gears creaking in the stillness, despite the vines' seemingly rigid grasp.