DX01: SINGULARITY 03645

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Massive, granite gears are turning inside this hollowed-out mountain, their teeth clicking rhythmically as they rotate. The air's filled with a smell like... umm, heated grease, and the pressure feels pretty low considering we must be deep underground. Pale, crystalline formations on the ceiling reflect a warm, golden light that seeps through from outside, where the sun seems to be stuck in the same mid-morning position it's been for hours. Shattered, obsidian mirrors litter the ground, holding images of forgotten, Sumerian deities staring up like they're still alive.