DX01: SINGULARITY 06715

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, the sun is beating down on a massive, sprawling junkyard, with old cars stacked on top of each other and scattered machinery parts everywhere... The air is hot and still, smells like burned oil and grease. Like, a massive swarm of butterflies is fluttering around a mangled old plane in the center of the yard, their wings creating a weird, pulsating sound. One of the crushed cars is somehow repairing itself, new metal panels unfolding from the wreckage and welding together in mid-air.