DX01: SINGULARITY 05615

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rays of sunlight filter through a series of small portholes high up on the curved walls of this cramped, metal submarine interior. Like, the air's stale and musty, heavy with the scent of old fuel, must be mid-morning. An old navigation console steadily plots a course on a large, yellowed chart, with a rusty mechanical arm moving on its own to adjust dials and levers, all while a group of seagulls somehow perched inside peck at some spilled fish guts on the floor. The sound of gentle waves lapping against the hull fills the air.