The room reacted instantly. Laughter, groans, visceral sounds of disgust.
“That’s murder!” someone snapped from the front row.
“But the math is the same,” a sharp voice cut through the noise.
I turned to see who had spoken. It was Owen Ramirez, an engineering major I recognized from the library. He was sitting two seats away, frowning at the screen. “If the goal is to save five lives, the mechanism shouldn’t matter. But…” He paused, rubbing his temple.
“But?” Whitaker pressed, stepping off the podium and walking down the aisle. He moved like a shark in shallow water.
