DX01: SINGULARITY 05489

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Old, peeling paint covers a small, one-room shed in the middle of a huge, empty parking lot. Umm, there's a strong smell of gasoline in the air, and the sky above is a pale, washed-out blue, like it's late afternoon. The shed's metal roof is somehow sagging downwards, but water's still running off it, forming a little puddle on the ground that's not actually spreading or soaking in – it's just stuck in a little circle. A broken lawn mower's just sitting there beside it, quietly still and looking really ordinary.