DX01: SINGULARITY 02035

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight's filtering through a layer of iridescent oil slick covering a massive, abandoned velodrome, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the worn, concrete track. Like, the air's thick with the smell of gasoline and the sound of screeching tires echoes through the stillness, but the track is somehow being repaved with what looks like gleaming, black onyx, as if it's being rewritten in real-time. Uh, a low-pressure system seems to be brewing overhead, with dark grey clouds swirling counterclockwise above the center of the velodrome, which is somehow pulling the entire sky toward it like a drain.