In the distance a machine drones, you follow the sound. Slow steps. Alone in a gloomy corridor, no escape; your only option is to continue onward. Swells of distortion begin to devour what is left of any fears, grasping reservations. You're drowning in a thick wall of tone. No choice but to accept the reverberation that's consuming you. At last you reach the origin of the resonance, this black hole, the machine. You've reached the Highlands; it feels good to gaze this hard.