Phil paused in the middle of logging a particularly tricky subroutine. That headache was getting worse and worse. He massaged his temples, hoping for relief but finding none.
Beep.
Phil checked the console. Everything was normal on the monitors.
Beep.
Phil looked again. Nothing had changed. He dialed the volume control back to zero.
Beep.
Where was that sound coming from?
Not this again.
Beep.
Phil sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. He couldn't fight it this time.
The beeping wasn't coming from the computer.
It was coming from Phil.
Beep... beep... beep beep beep beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep... The electronic beeps merged into one high-pitched whine.
Thoughts and sensations streamed through Phil's mind faster than he could process them. His brain was bombarded by a flood of information.
A flood of information he didn't recognize.
Phil grabbed the armrests of his chair and gritted his teeth.
He heard a metallic voice inside his head. It was speaking Russian, but he could make it out clearly.
The pain became too much. Phil gasped and fell out of the chair. "Grissom!" he called. "Griss!"
More information flew across his mind's eye. Bits and pieces of data in hundreds of languages - human and computer languages - sped in crazed circles through his brain.
Phil had lost all control.
He staggered to his feet slowly, relieved that he still commanded all his motor functions. Phil slumped into the chair and wound his arms through the armrests, trying to fight off whatever was attacking him from inside his head.
