DX01: SINGULARITY 06550

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Cryptic stone pedestals rise out of a vast, dusty, abandoned flea market like sentinels, each topped with an assortment of strange, ornate lamps that seem to be drawing in wisps of nearby fog. Uh, the air's thick with the smell of old leather and there's a faint hum of energy, like... a low-voltage current is running through the ground beneath my feet. Nearby, a decrepit, rusted vending machine is somehow dispensing sealed glass jars containing iridescent, swirling clouds that seem to shift and pulse like living things, the jars vanishing into thin air after a few seconds.