DX01: SINGULARITY 08687

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A beat-up old windmill's remains are just lying on the ground in a sparse, dry wheat field, like it was somehow toppled and then just disassembled itself. Uh, a gentle breeze rustles through the wheat stalks and birds are chirping in the distance as a slow trickle of water somehow flows uphill and collects into a small pool at the top of a nearby rock outcropping, with no visible source or channel for the water. The air's still and dry, with the scent of wheat and earth filling my nostrils, and the sun hangs low in the pale blue sky. A broken wooden wheel just keeps spinning by itself.