DX01: SINGULARITY 07914

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, rough-hewn wooden beams support a thatched roof in what looks like a small, rural barn. A bunch of cows are somehow operating a collection of old, hand-cranked churns, their hooves moving deftly as they produce an assortment of intricately crafted cheeses and butters. Like, the air's thick with the smell of fresh milk and damp hay, and a warm sunbeam filters through a gap in the wooden slats, casting a line of light across the dusty floor where a perfectly still, precariously balanced egg somehow doesn't roll off a small, inclined plane.