DX01: SINGULARITY 06818

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a massive, mangled mess of wreckage from a passenger jet is strewn across a deserted, sandy beach at low tide. The air's heavy with the smell of saltwater, fuel, and charred metal, and seagulls are flying overhead, screeching loudly. The jet's seats are somehow reassembling themselves into perfect rows, like, the cushions and headrests snapping back into place as if nothing's wrong, and a small, inflatable emergency slide is still slowly inflating and deflating with a hissing sound. The sun's beating down, making the metal fragments scorching hot.