DX01: SINGULARITY 06916

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, ravens made of oil slicks are sliding across the surface of a massive, frozen, blood-filled lake, leaving behind trails of burning, gasoline-soaked feathers. The sky above's a sickly yellow haze, with the sun a barely visible, dying ember hovering just above the twisted, cyclopean ruins that line the lake's edge, their crumbling facades smeared with cryptic symbols from the Pnakotic Manuscripts. The air's heavy with the smell of decay and death, and there's an oppressive, pulsating stillness, like the very atmosphere is a living thing that's watching me... and somehow, the lake's ice is melting upward.