DX01: SINGULARITY 07923

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight filters through the grimy skylight of a worn, old-fashioned woodworking shop, the air thick with the smell of sawdust and varnish. Like, a bunch of beavers are expertly crafting a wooden rocking chair, their tiny paws moving quickly as they work in total silence, except for the sound of wood creaking and the gentle ticking of an old clock on the wall. A large, precariously balanced wooden beam teeters on the edge of a workbench, somehow not falling off despite the shop's gentle swaying motion, as if it were on a boat or something. The air's pretty still and dry.