DX01: SINGULARITY 04233

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusty sunlight streams in through the open doorway of a worn-out barn, casting long shadows across the old hay and tools scattered everywhere. Uh, a big ol' pig is steadily operating a blacksmith's forge, somehow shaping perfect little horseshoes out of molten metal with its trotters. The air's thick with the smell of hot metal, coal, and manure, and it's really warm and still in here, like it's the middle of a summer afternoon. Like, somehow the anvil's just casually hovering in mid-air, staying perfectly level despite the pig's vigorous hammering.