Many markets on the top of Pabu were open and Hunter followed along with the rest of the Bad Batch, half listening to their conversations. The air buzzed with the usual cacophony of a bustling market square.

It began subtly, a prickling at the back of his neck, a heightened awareness of every shout, every clatter, every scent of exotic spices. Colours seemed to bleed into each other, the normally vibrant displays of fruits and fabrics turning into an assault on his vision. The tang of sweat and grime from people was overwhelming. The ground felt like it thrummed with a low vibration, a constant, unsettling pulse beneath his boots. He flinched as a child shrieked with laughter, his eyes flickering in the direction.

He'd been through fight after fight in the most distracting and overwhelming places imaginable. Yet here, in the relative calm of the Pabu markets, his senses had never felt so overwhelming. Maybe he was getting sick? He was fine- it would deal with itself. It would pass.

His hands flexed, curling into a ball and out again as he tried to get his enhanced senses under control. It was quickly proving to be a losing battle, though. He wasn't sure if it was the bickering between Crosshair and Wrecker, or the careless bump from someone that sent him over the edge. But he had to get out.

Hunter barely managed to mutter out some bad excuse before he was stumbling back and near running off. He just needed to get away from the loud sounds and the people and the scents and-

He pressed his back against the rough-hewn stone wall, gasping for breath. His enhanced vision, usually a tactical advantage, now felt like some kind of cruel joke. Everything was too bright. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the world to dim, to quiet.

He picked up the nearing footsteps, but he didn't register them until a hand, cool and steady, landed on his shoulder. He flinched, then forced himself to relax when he recognized the familiar touch.