DX01: SINGULARITY 03397

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dense, frosty air envelops everything, the only sound being the creaking of old wooden beams beneath a thatched roof. Like, there's a weirdly vibrant patch of what looks like Astroturf in the center of this medieval-style threshing barn, surrounded by scattered piles of hay and abandoned farm tools. The air's charged with an electric tension, making my skin tingle. For some reason, one of the rusty old plows on the wall is slowly, steadily plowing through a nearby stack of hay all on its own, like it's somehow powered by an unseen force.