DX01: SINGULARITY 07917

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, sunlight filters through a bunch of narrow slats in a simple wooden chicken coop, the air thick with the smell of damp feathers and dry hay. Like, a bunch of chickens are somehow operating an assortment of tiny, manual looms, their beaks moving deftly as they weave a variety of intricate fabrics. The air's pretty still, and it's warm, with a single sunbeam casting a narrow line of light across the dusty floor where a small, perfectly still egg somehow balances on the edge of a small wooden bucket that's just, like, hovering a few inches above a pile of soft, fluffy feathers.