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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dense layers of fog machines are somehow creating a misty atmosphere in a huge, abandoned velodrome, the curved bike track still covered with a thin layer of smooth, even concrete. Umm, thousands of perfectly intact glass bottles are arranged across the infield like they're waiting to be thrown at a bottling plant, while the sound of the cycling world championships still echoes through the empty stadium. The fog's pretty chilly, carrying the sweet smell of bike grease, and it's really humid in here... the track itself has weird, swirly symbols etched into the surface that seem to shift like 8chan copypastas when I glance away.