The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A vast, abandoned velodrome stretches out, the track a seamless curve of weathered wood. Umm... the air's heavy with a sweet, burnt smell, and it's pretty humid... a massive, crystalline beehive is somehow embedded in the center of the track, with bees flying in and out in perfectly synchronized waves. The sun's not visible, but the sky's a deep, burning orange... a solitary, antique penny-farthing bicycle is pedaling itself around the track with a smooth, mechanical motion, no signs of slowing.