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The bridge displays did not dim. Spock found it illogical. Their luminosity appeared… excessive. Was it rationally necessary for a multitude of important controls to be fixed at maximum intensity brightness? Buttons flashed without a logical sequence, each equally insistent, and demanding priority. Spock pressed them in an order that was 37.5% likely to be adequate. Then he flicked five switches, which appeared to increase the flashing speed of around 44% of the buttons. Spock winced.
Constant high-pitched beeping was standard on the bridge. The churning of machinery, the flicking of switches, and the tapping of buttons and keys were the expected background noises of working in such an environment as a starfleet ship. Spock was accustomed to the eternal humming, and the vibrations beneath his fingers, however, today, it only seemed to put him on edge.
The ceiling lights were intense. Too bright. Blinding. Spock closed his eyes. There was a sharp, piercing ringing in his ears, a dull ache behind his eyes, and a throbbing pressure against both sides of his skull. The pain was marginally tolerable. If he pushed himself, he could finish the shift, but by continuing, he would increase his recovery time by a possible 27%.
Voices merged into one source of vexatious noise. Spock attempted to isolate the Captain’s comments and commands from the chaos. He failed. It appeared Uhura was telling him something, and he answered with a mere nod, unable to interpret the Federation Standard mimed by her lips. When he looked down at his hands, they were… shaking.
“Permission to leave the bridge, Captain?” Spock asked, hands falling to his sides; unable to trust himself to fulfill his duties to an adequate standard.
The Captain raised an eyebrow at the slight waver in his 1st Officer’s voice. “Permission… granted.” He replied with a minor hesitation.
Spock fled.
His vision blurred, the floor shifted beneath his feet, his sense of direction non-existent, as he stumbled through the ship. Someone brushed against his shoulder, and he pushed them to the side with a deep growl. “Don’t touch me!” He yelled, if it was toward the correct direction was unknown, as the current of the crowd pushed him down the corridor.
“Stop it!” He yelled to no one in particular. He couldn’t see, it was too bright, and everything was too loud yet too quiet at the same time. “Stop! Stop it! Stop it! Stop!”
Figures shook in his limited vision. They were too close, they were swallowing him, suffocating him, and Spock pushed them back, shoved them; tried to escape their monstrous grasp. “Don’t touch me!” He growled, stumbling back toward a wall. “Don’t touch me! Stop it! Leave me alone!”
His mind felt fuzzy, floaty; distant. His skull ached, and his eyes stung, and his ears ached from the constant high-pitched ringing. His thoughts weren’t straight, they spiralled; nothing was rational, nothing was logical; nothing made sense anymore.
He screamed, sobbed, growled as they approached, kicked, hit, punched as they tried to restrain him, and let out agonising howl as the needle pricked his arm. Then all he remembered was that the lights finally dimmed, and the world faded to black.