DX01: SINGULARITY 07548

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Grey-brown dust devils dance around a derelict Soviet-era radar array, its dishes cracked and broken, yet somehow still rotating in unison, like they're tracking something. Umm, the air's got this heavy, still quality to it, and it smells of burnt wiring. The sky above is a pale, washed-out blue, with a few wispy cirrus clouds that seem to be... shifting into glitch art patterns, like they're being rewritten on the fly. A low, thrumming hum emanates from the radar dishes, vibrating through the air, making my skin prickle.