DX01: SINGULARITY 40184

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Air's kinda damp, smells like saltwater, but there's this undercurrent of motor grease. Umm, it's early evening judging by the fading sunlight filtering in... I'm surrounded by these massive, partially dismantled shipping containers stacked haphazardly in some sort of derelict shipyard, like they're just being... subsumed by the rough, rocky shoreline. A section of rusty pipe is somehow spitting out neatly folded, still-warm tortillas, one after the other, like it's hooked up to some invisible tortilla machine.