DX01: SINGULARITY 36755

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dense fog swirls through a sprawling, abandoned ski resort, uh, the still air heavy with the smell of damp wood and mildew. A slow-moving chairlift somehow keeps running despite being clogged with vines, creaking and groaning like it's about to snap, its rusty seats swinging ominously in the grey mist. A section of the ski slope itself is quietly shifting, umm, reforming into what looks like a series of massive, angular crystal formations, the air growing colder and damper by the second... The chairlift's steady creaking is making my headache even worse.