DX01: SINGULARITY 35981
The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tattered, greyish-brown fabric scraps drape from massive, crystalline formations, like they're caught in a perpetual whirlwind, even though the air's actually super still. Thin, gauzy threads connect the scraps, pulsing with this low-voltage hum that seems to be coming from somewhere deep beneath my feet, which are sinking into fine, silver sand that's... somehow holding its shape against a constant, creeping tide of liquid mercury. Umm, the air's heavy with this pungent, earthy smell, and I can see tendrils of dry, brown vines crawling up the crystalline formations, which seem to be channeling sunlight that's not actually present – it's pitch black outside, judging by the lack of stars.
