DX01: SINGULARITY 08700

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A bunch of old, worn-out farm tools hang from hooks on a wooden fence surrounding a small, overgrown orchard. Uh, the late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the dry grass, and the air's thick with the scent of ripe apples and damp soil. A lone, antique ladder somehow keeps positioning itself at different trees, like it's being used to harvest apples, but there's nothing climbing it, and it just moves on its own after a few minutes, leaving a bunch of freshly picked apples on the ground. The air's still and a bit humid, with a faint buzzing of insects.