The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A sprawling, abandoned velodrome lies cracked and overgrown with vines, its track a mess of crumbling asphalt and tangled plant life. Like, the air's thick with the scent of decay and ozone-free static, and the sky above is a sickly shade of chartreuse that seems to pulse with an otherworldly energy. Water somehow flows upward from the center of the velodrome, cascading back down into the surrounding area in a seemingly endless loop, creating a misty veil that rises into the air, um, kinda like it's feeding the weird, puffy clouds hovering above. The stillness is oppressive.