DX01: SINGULARITY 08463

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dry leaves crunch underfoot in a quiet, deserted alleyway, with worn brick buildings looming overhead and a few wispy clouds drifting lazily across a pale blue sky. The air's crisp, carrying the scent of decay and damp earth, and it's pretty still except for a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. Umm, like, a bunch of raccoons is somehow operating a old-fashioned, rickety wooden press, steadily churning out neat stacks of what looks like handmade paper... somehow, the raccoons are also managing to stamp the sheets with intricate, precise copperplate prints of flowers and vines.