The red digits blinked, counting down from twenty-four hours.

For him, time was measured in the shifting display of red digits on his meter.

He glanced at the red digits of the clock on the panel, and then, as if he did not agree, checked his Rolex.

The screen was a uniform gray except for the red digits in the bottom right-hand corner, busy counting the "real time" they spent in hyperspace.

At the bottom right corner of prime screen, red digits ticked time.

I looked down, my own eyes fixed on his fingers, still red and slightly swollen, interlaced with my own stained and bloody digits.

He reached over, bent down the piece of plastic card, and looked at the glowing, mocking red digits.

To subtract, the red digits were exposed and set to 0.

The red digits of the bedside clock flipped over to 12:00.

He balanced on a swirl of foam while giving the thumbs-up sign with a swollen red digit.