DX01: SINGULARITY 08727

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tall stalks of sun-dried wheat sway in a gentle afternoon breeze. Like, a bunch of chickens are pecking at the ground, somehow methodically sorting and arranging fallen seeds into neat little piles. The air is warm and still, filled with the smell of dry earth and ripe wheat, and umm, a small, old-fashioned thresher is steadily chugging away in the distance, spewing out perfectly baled hay with no visible means of power. A few wispy clouds drift lazily across a clear blue sky, casting dappled shadows over the dry earth.