The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, sunlight's shining through a giant, shattered geodesic dome covering this sprawling, abandoned velodrome... The air's thick with dust and the smell of worn rubber, and like, you can hear the faint echo of revving engines and cheering crowds. The weird thing is, the rusting remains of a Proton rocket are somehow sprouting vines and moss, and tendrils of ivy are snaking around its rocket nozzles. The surrounding track's crumbling surface seems to be absorbing the rocket's exhaust, like it's being retroactively fueled by the decay.