Romans & histoires Visual

"Ms Blackwood, are you prepared to stand by that in writing?" "I am prepared to show you why," I said. I hit the visualization key and the graph pulsed, then exploded. The color readings ripped apart the forgery like a seamstress undoing a bad stitch. Numbers scrolled. A heat map flooded the screen in colors that shouldn't exist on an impressionist canvas. The room went quiet the way rooms fell silent when someone knocks over a glass. Whitmore's face had the color of someone being told he's wearing a disguise to a masquerade he thought was private. "This is... damning."

a mocking voice echoes down the hall, loud and confident, dripping with irony. “You bastard… you killed my father!” Mark yells, sprinting like a beast, his eyes bloodshot with darkness. “Eh, eh… I don’t think so,” Logan lifts an AK-47 from the ground. It’s dirty, rusty, but on the gas pistons, you can just make out a black “5” with smoke curling from it. For some reason, Mark sees it too. He freezes mid-step, and Sam doesn’t move either. I can’t comprehend anything.

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