DX01: SINGULARITY 04076

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A worn, iron plow somehow steadily cuts through the dry earth in a sun-drenched, barren field, leaving a trail of turned soil and uprooted weeds in its wake. Like, the air's hot and dry, filled with the scent of parched earth and withered grasses, and a pair of industrious oxen calmly pull the plow along, their harnesses creaking under the strain. A massive, polished granite boulder somehow hovers in mid-air just above the plow, casting a small patch of shade on the otherwise sun-baked earth. Umm, it's... midday, maybe?