DX01: SINGULARITY 34639

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Musty silence fills a damp, dimly lit 19th-century parlour room, the air thick with the smell of aged leather, polish, and stale cigar smoke. Uh, bioluminescent fungi sprout from cracked, velvet couch cushions, eerily mapping CS:GO's Inferno layout in faint, ethereal light, as dust motes slowly dance in still air. The ornate grandfather clock in the corner is somehow keeping perfect, impossible time – the hands frozen at exactly 3:14 – without a single tick. Like, the atmosphere feels expectant, waiting for something to happen.