He sees plenty. The view is pretty, and the music is lovely - and - something is wrong with his leg braces; he suppresses a grimace at the faint tingling sensation.

The tingling sensation rapidly becomes less faint.

He bolts for the entrance, along the artistically winding paths, not daring to step foot in the temptingly cool water lest something electrical happen to him in this artifact that has already proven treacherous. His leg braces are scalding hot. Abandoning dignity as a priority wholly overridden by the circumstances, he sprawls on the floor and hauls at his trousers until he can reach the braces' clamps. Not surprisingly, they're hot enough to burn his fingers. He yanks his boots off, tries again, and this time gets the braces unfastened. Off they come, shoved aside violently in his hurry to escape them; then there's nothing left to do but curl up in a miserable ball and hiss curses under his breath, trying not to let anything whatsoever touch the horrific blisters that now pattern both his legs from knee to ankle.