"Father, come find us!" they cry, their voices drifting from the depths of the gargantuan machine built beneath his mansion.

He is a wealthy industrialist, a man of "vision," but his memory is a fractured mirror. He remembers a disastrous expedition to Mexico; he remembers the crushing grief of losing his wife; and most piercingly, he remembers the voices of his two sons, Edwin and Enoch.

The deeper Oswald goes, the more the sickening truth reveals itself. He didn't just build the Machine; he fed it. In a desperate, mad attempt to "spare" his sons from a future of war and suffering, he sacrificed them to his creation. The voices he hears aren't pleas for rescue—they are echoes of a tragedy he orchestrated.