C120 Blood on the Screen.

The stench of death wasn’t here, but I swore I could smell it. With the way it glistened on the broadcast, tracing jagged patterns across the floor, seeping into cracks. The camera zoomed in—the crimson name glared back at me. My pulse pounded, a deafening roar against the eerie silence.

Clayton stopped mid-step. The sound of the television seized him in place; his hand hovered on his cufflinks