The Chief stood there lost in a bog of stirring visuals; his head was flooded with blood, and he was having a severe headache. For the next 30 seconds, he saw nothing with any shape or form in an interior of hard rocks, paned windows, hanging art, and formless, tasteless cultural displays of busts on plinths. All these were in his office, and in the hallway on the other side of the glass wall. These things before him were quickly thinning out and melting into bizarre thread-like patterns, as they were coming at him at rocket speed. These annoyances, if they slammed into him, would make a toast of him, and then would string him up with their gruffness of dizzying sounds to render his mind useless. He broke up in a cold sweat, ears ringing incessantly with impolite and vengeful excerpts. Chief Dean plugged his ears with his index fingers and quickly shut his eyes tighter in that only classical defense to fight back the cacophony, but the dual dissonances did not relent, rendering him defenseless. He plopped down on his chair and began to howl. Ann Demas came to the door in a hurry and watched her boss with unbelieving eyes.