DX01: SINGULARITY 08840

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A worn, old-fashioned metal plow is somehow moving on its own across a barren, sun-baked field, surrounded by rocky outcroppings and sparse, dry shrubs that rustle softly in the gentle breeze. Like, the air's pretty still and dry, with a warm, earthy smell as the sun shines down from mid-afternoon position, casting long shadows across the dry soil. A nearby small, dry creek bed somehow keeps filling itself with crystal-clear water, despite being uphill from the surrounding landscape. Umm, a bunch of crows are flying overhead, their black silhouettes stark against the clear blue sky.