Onward

In the sea of grayish-white fog all around, Professor, Periodic Table, and Prototype were either leaning against the ship's railings, their faces flushed and throbbing, or crouching down covering their ears, curled up, or constantly grabbing and pulling their own hair, as if trying to rip off their skulls to relieve the pressure their brains were bearing.

Seeing their reactions, Franca couldn't help but look over at Mr. Hanged Man. "Is there a way to alleviate this situation?"

This was a problem that even a Spectator's Placate could not solve, as it was not mental confusion or an emotional outburst, but simply that their brains could not withstand being flooded with so much knowledge in such a short time, not even able to activate their self-protection mechanisms and pass out.