Peter looked over at the computer and furrowed his brow. It wasn't supposed to do that. Quickly, he crossed the room to the screen, pulling up a few commands to check over the security system. No new alerts. Hm.
Then another screen popped up, with words. He blinked at them, curious how they had appeared in the midst of all this silent insanity.
Starting to type in a response, Peter encountered the same problem he had all along; try as he might, the moment his hands tried to form the words in his mind, they stopped, the message he wanted to relay lost somewhere in translation between mental visualization and physical movement.
But the words had appeared. Peter glanced at the duckling sitting calmly on his desk. Kat looked back at him and tilted her head. He shrugged in reply and petted her, smoothing out the feathers behind her neck. Then he lifted a finger, indicating that he'd be right back, and turned again to the computer screen.
His eyes flickered with static as Peter let himself sink into technopathy, entering the computer's network. His mind read the whizzing of codes as a highway, and so for him, he appeared in a way station on the side of the road.
"Hello?" he called out, grateful that the silence hadn't affected purely digital communication. This would have been much harder otherwise.