DX01: SINGULARITY 08699

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, old wind-blown tumbleweeds are scattered across the dusty, cracked earth of a barren, dry lakebed. A vintage, old-fashioned plow is somehow steadily tilling the same patch of dry, cracked earth in neat, curved lines, despite not being attached to any horses or other animals. The late morning sun beats down on everything, and the air is still and hot, smelling of dry dirt and creosote bush. In the distance, a group of about twenty tumbleweeds somehow keep jumping up a small hill, then rolling back down in an endless cycle, like they're caught in a natural loop.