DX01: SINGULARITY 09705

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Shelves upon shelves of worn, antique radios seem to stretch up to the sky in this cramped, open-air flea market, with the sun beating down from directly overhead. Umm, the air's thick with the smell of burnt copper and solder, and I can hear a cacophony of distant broadcasts and white noise, but it's somehow eerily harmonious, like... the sounds are all somehow synchronized. Water trickles freely from the radios themselves, pooling into a series of small, intricate canals that seem to be nourishing a variety of strange, pulsing plants.