DX01: SINGULARITY 08849

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusty old tools and scraps of metal are scattered all over a small, cramped blacksmith shop. Umm, the air's thick with the smell of hot metal and sweat, and the sound of clanging hammering fills the air, even though there's no one actually doing any work. A small, rickety wooden wheel is somehow continually powering a bellows, puffing out perfectly timed bursts of air to fuel the forge, which is just sitting there burning away, like it's being tended to. The sunlight's streaming in through a small window high up on the wall, casting a warm glow over everything.