DX01: SINGULARITY 05190

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Crushed and rusted fragments of a plane's fuselage are scattered across a snow-covered mountain ridge, umm, pieces somehow reassembling themselves despite the howling wind. The air is crisp and thin, with a biting chill, and I can see the faint contrail of another plane disappearing into the distance, like, it's flying directly into the side of the mountain without impacting. Flakes of snow are settling on a reassembled wing, as the sound of crunching metal and screams of stressed aluminum continue to echo through the air. Water from a nearby ice field is flowing uphill, refreezing into solid ice.