DX01: SINGULARITY 08998

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight's pouring into a cramped, cluttered parlour room, the smell of old wood polish and stale air hanging heavy. Like, a bunch of antique clocks are somehow all ticking in perfect synchrony, their mechanisms whirring softly as the sun casts a warm glow over everything. The air's pretty still, except for a faint creaking of old wooden floorboards, and a small, ornate music cabinet in the corner is somehow playing a slow, mournful tune on a lone, unseen harmonica. The clocks all strike the hour at the same instant, their chimes echoing through the room.