DX01: SINGULARITY 04449

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rain's coming down in a steady beat on a sprawling, abandoned highway rest stop, with crumbling stone picnic tables scattered around, overgrown with thick vines and moss. The air's thick and still, heavy with the smell of wet asphalt and ozone-free storm air. A cluster of crystalline starlings perch on the rusting skeleton of a old, gutted gas pump, watching as water somehow seeps out of the empty fuel reservoir, forming a slow-moving rivulet that flows upwards and across the parking lot like it's defying gravity. Uh, the sky's a sickly pale gray above.