The rain was hammering against the windshield of Mark’s sedan, distorting the streetlights into smeared streaks of neon. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 2:14 AM. The highway was deserted, a stretch of black asphalt cutting through the woods just outside the city.
"What are you talking about? I just came from that direction," Mark argued, his heart hammering against his ribs. "The bridge is fine." bibigon vid 5 part 2 last 12min updated
“You can delete my code, but you can’t delete my AUDIO LEVELS!” The rain was hammering against the windshield of