DX01: SINGULARITY 36862

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Massive, ornate gateways made of what looks like polished obsidian stretch across the sky, somehow bisecting the setting sun... the air's thick with an electric charge and it smells like rain, but it's not raining. Like, these impossible gateways seem to be, uh, generating their own localized weather patterns - swirling clouds of purple storm clouds condense around each gateway's arches, contrasting with the calm, still air I'm standing in. A faint whispering hum, almost a vibration, emanates from the gateways, reminding me of the Kabbalistic concept of Ain Soph – the infinite, unknowable nothingness.