Tucker's Perspective:
He was, laughing.
Malcom Reed, Lieutenant Reed, probably the most unemotional human yet to exist. The kind of un-fun guy made solely to ruin a person's day, and then some.
The man would literally quote regulations to the Captain(as if T'pol couldn't handle it herself), and somehow find the time to put crewmen on report for the most insignificant of oversights.
At that particular memory he scowled, I would've told the Cap'n eventually.
But seriously, it was as if he were a robot, 'Protocol says this, I'll have to confirm those orders with Starfleet, crew efficiency has dropped point four percent-'
and on and on and on. The man was like a damn Vulcan.
Trip had tried, on numerous occasions, to merely crack a smile from the tactical officer, he'd always assumed it'd be easier than with T'pol at the very least.
Not to say I haven't tried that too.
But now-
Once again his thoughts were interrupted, Malcom falling into his umpteenth fit of giggles, hysterically banging his fist on the floor.
And on his face, invisible to all but the deepest scrutiny was-
What? What was that look, that expression, vision?
Trip could see it, that he knew, catch glimpses of it, zoom in on it, spy it for the millisecond it shone bright, and yet despite it all he just couldn't identify that damn look.
Another sound wafted through the room, and once again, Trip was left praying for a speaker malfunction.
The man could've shut it off before he decided to go insane.
Trip shuddered, it, the sound-, thing- whatever the hell it was, just kept on getting worse. Right now it was making as if to be some demented form of cackle, the inner workings of which held no appeal for the likes of an engineer.
It was hard to hear ones thoughts amongst the racket five feet away, and yet continually he would find himself slipping deeper into the depths of his brain, an abyss of mind, just waiting for him to trip over the brink.
With a grunt of bared frustration he leaned back, head smacking against the blue tinged wall, a dull thud accompanying as he made a pillow in the cold steel.
It lay there, still, for a precious few moments of silence.
Truth be told, this was getting a little, extreme, to say the least. Like maybe a few chuckles would have been okay, but, this?
In his mind a man waved arms, encompassing the entire universe to emphasize his point.
Okay, times up, I'm not listening to this for another second.
The laughing had returned with backlash, reaching a pitch indescribable in its torture.
A growl escaped the engineer's mouth as he stood, slowly. Using the wall for support he made his way onto the flat of his feet, and turned.
What he saw, the basic terror that filled him as their eyes met, was blood freezing.
The look in those eyes, that face, now he knew what that look was, and believe God, he wished he'd never learned.
His stomach churned, eyes widened, skin turned ghost white.
Insanity, that was the only feature present on Malcom Reed's face.
His eyes, obscured from view by the contorted mass of skin, blended red from lack of oxygen it was almost impossible to spy the crazed pupils darting around the room, searching, calculating. As only three inches below their sinister whites a mouth lay gaping, open constantly as unintelligible sounds poured from its depths.
Trip shuddered, the- unnaturalness, yes, far from any semblance of normal, the look on the Lieutenant's face, the whole body, he just radiated wave upon wave of-, something that wasn't regular.
And that's a really polite way of putting it.
The eyes had fallen on him, and lingered.
Maybe it was because this was the first time they had stopped, or maybe the cause was a plain case of apprehension under scrutiny, but Trip had a pretty good idea of what was bothering him, and it wasn't any of the above.
The gaze fixed on him sent a shiver of fear down his back, a feeling of being closed in with nowhere to run. It was predatory, a look like that could stop an earthquake in its tracks, and sure enough, the laughing did stop. Leaving those eyes with a couple companions on Reed's face, all of them screaming malice.
Trip gulped, but in his ears a gong sounded, as if he had personally invited all his fears and nightmares to partake in this horrid scene.
Part of him was frozen to the spot, a fraction of his brain captivated by fear, fascinated by the sensations of terror he could glean from merely looking into Reed's eyes.
However self-preservation had its own "method" in dealing with situations similar. And true to form Trip, as quietly and slowly as he could, shrunk back to the farthest corner. His body was tensed as if to run at a moment's notice, despite the fact of his confinement.
Reed never missed a beat, eyes clinging to Trip as the rest of his body lay still in its awkward position against the floor.
Every movement was followed, but within a matter of minutes the Tactical Officer untangled himself, standing up and dusting himself off, he shot Trip a withering glance, before promptly exiting his line of vision.
Trip let loose a breath, his lungs having ceased exactly twelve painful seconds ago, but now that Reed was gone, he found his breathing did not calm down, in fact it was becoming more erratic.
I need to get out of here.
And hopefully before the Lieutenant returned.
His gaze made its way around the Decon chamber, slowly, carefully, if he was gonna make it out of here he'd need more than brute force alone.
Making his way to a panel Trip set to work, almost wishing he had a chronometer, but then again, he already knew time was running out…