He was taken to an echoing room where in the middle hung a light bulb swaying with every annoyed breathe and a smash on the weakened wooden table. Everything around was the space searching answers that probably were his or of him. With hands locked under cuffs, it couldn't move to justify, he could only be torn apart to not be written forcefully upon someone's writings. Why did the conspiracy theories prove wrong and take favour of wrong side? The news flow had spread a tarnished reputation of the company he founded, it meant to be rusted under unwanted weathering of behavioural mistake of someone else, the lines struck his memory cells like a tape recorder on repeat.
So the breaking news this evening, the investors interest at stake and a......... The anchor was playing his mind in a way it could burst him out, suddenly he remembered the song he used to hear in distress releasing unconfirmed nostalgia upon the blood's stream. Snapping him back to the situation, the interrogator laughed at his nervousness bubbled in a nutshell asking a mercy, putting his leg on chair's arm, he spoke out in a rogue manner.
"So Christian huh, now that you are into an interrogation room, can you feel the hall of fame slowly encapsulating into a tiny matchstick spark?" Rahul Asked in a sarcastic excitement. The anger and egoistic head couldn't tolerate anymore and instead he slammed the daunting fear and grinned over to his face to only say.