DX01: SINGULARITY 04082

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A slow-moving river flows gently through a sun-dappled valley, its tranquil surface reflecting the few puffy white clouds drifting lazily across a bright blue sky, umm, probably mid-morning. Like, a small group of beavers are busily repairing a wooden fence nearby, their tools scattered around them, and the air's filled with the scent of fresh water and damp earth. Nearby, a small, old-fashioned hand pump somehow steadily pours water upwards from the river into a large, clay jug suspended high above a nearby wooden dock, even though the pump's handle isn't moving.