DX01: SINGULARITY 08653

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, there's this old wind-beaten water trough sitting in the middle of a barren, rural corral. The late morning sun is beating down, making the dry earth crackle, and the air smells like sweat and dried horsehair. Like, somehow the trough is refilling itself with ice cubes, even though it's super hot out here, and a bunch of thirsty horses are gathered around it, crunching away. A few lazy birds are flying overhead, chirping loudly.