DX01: SINGULARITY 34325

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Cobwebs cling to the delicate, filigree mechanisms of a derelict, Belle Époque-style, astronomical clock, its face cracked, umm, like a mirror dropped on stone, reflecting shards of cloudy sky. I hear the faint tick of a mechanism, and the scent of old machine oil wafts through the damp, still air. Water drips somewhere, echoing off cold stone, as morning sunlight casts long shadows across a room that appears to be an impossible mashup of medieval chapel and 19th-century scientific observatory. The clock's mechanism seems to be somehow absorbing the surrounding air's oxygen.