DX01: SINGULARITY 08335

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a bunch of old, worn-out farm equipment is stacked haphazardly in a small, rustic storage shed. Like, the air's thick with the smell of damp hay and fresh soil, and a faint breeze is rustling the leaves of the nearby plants through a partially open door. In the corner, an old wooden pitchfork is somehow steadily and perfectly sorting fresh vegetables into baskets, like it's being handled by an invisible farmhand. The shed's really warm and humid, the sunlight filtering in through the small windows, and it's so still you can hear the vegetables gently thudding into the baskets.