E Ink Ghosting Novels & Stories

Since I met Tilly. “Here.” Ink slid over a shot glass of something dark, I guessed it was whiskey as I couldn’t see anything else on the shelves here. “Thanks.” I lifted the glass and poured it into my mouth, letting the contents burn my throat as it slid down to my stomach. It immediately calmed my nerves. “Can I have another?” I asked, Ink nodded once and poured one more for every one of us. “Holgate will be here in the next hour or so to get rid of them. Fuck knows how were going to explain him having his dick shot off.” He told us.

Red ink Ep 13: Two sides of a coin • • He looked at the scene before him, the grass was wet and damp, rain drizzling, washing the blood of his victims away with its spontaneity. He didn't have much to do, he was done for the evening and he had who he came for. Boss would want him to finish it clean but he made a special request tonight, that he should leave the scene as it was, unattended and allow whoever was passing by perceive the odour of the decay...multiple dead persons. That would be one odour to reckon with. It would be a trigger point for the man who hid in the shadows.

he told Angela that it was a good idea to let Amanda stay, he was scratchy being close to commoners. Melina and Owino arrived at the office, their secretary gave them a heads up, their guests had arrived few minutes ago, she suggested for them to rush. she offered to bring them coffee later when the deal is sealed and wished them luck. Melina panicked and told Owino, she was not ready for the presentation since it was her first time she felt like she was going to muddle it up for them. “Come, here let me give you a hug.” Owino offered to help her calm down

​I pulled out my spiral notebook, my graphite pencil flying across the paper with a violent, jagged speed: ​Wrap the paper in the canvas tarps. The graphite grease has high thermal retention; if the drone switches to infrared, the wet ink will look like a cluster of hot engines. ​Julian read the note, his eyes widening. "You're right. Fresh petroleum ink glows like a lightbulb on a thermal lens." He immediately turned to Yusuf, who was already hauling a heavy, oil-soaked tarp down from the locomotive frame. Together, they smothered the fresh bundles of The First Signal, tucking the edges beneath the iron plating of the hand-car to mask the chemical heat.

Spelled out in the dense, unyielding font of her own blood-infused handwriting was a single, defiant command: ​HOLD_THE_LINE. ​The Printer’s oilskin boot struck the blue text barrier. A spectacular explosion of violet and purple sparks detonated between them, the kinetic force blowing the glass covers off the wall outlets and sending a cascade of white sparks shooting across the linoleum. The Printer let out a low, mechanical growl, his text-scaled face shifting frantically as the code within the indigo wall forced a localized font conflict into his system. ​"The ink is compromised," the Printer clattered, his hollow punch-die eyes flaring with purple fire as he forced the heavy iron roller