Chapter 2 The office of despair

The elevator groaned as it went down, as if it, too, had become tired of its monotonous up-and-down pattern in the deteriorating backbone of BlackStar Industries. With one hand stuffed into his pocket and the other still holding a half-full coffee, Mark was standing inside, leaning against the rear wall. He gazed at the bright floor numbers with calculating, far-off eyes.

Beneath his relaxed exterior and informal grin, Mark's thoughts were racing faster than they had been for months.

John had a ground-breaking concept. Not only was the advertising effective, it had the potential to change people's perspectives. John had given the raw idea with the sheepish, trusting tone he often employed, and it was a marketing game-changer. As if he still thought that everyone in this shithole was on the same side.

Mark gave himself a low snicker.

The familiar buzz of computers, the stale smell of old coffee, and the silent sadness that hung heavy in the air like fog welcomed him as he exited the elevator and entered the main office level. Unconcerned, a few weary-looking workers looked up from their workstations and then went back to their computers. As usual, the day was sluggish, dark, and depressing.

Mark made his way across rows of partially occupied seats to his cubicle. Every worker here was an island, living just to survive. They had nothing to produce. They were holding on to their salaries, protecting the business, and silently hoping that someone else, anyone else would rescue it.

He saw Sarah sitting on a seat and browsing through her phone as he passed the break area. With practiced indifference, her immaculately manicured fingers moved over the screen. Mark hesitated.

He gave her one of his crooked grins and said, "Good morning."

She did not raise her head. "Midday is almost here."

Mark gave a nonchalant shrug. "Anyway, time is not real here."

Now, with a glimmer of interest in her normally reserved face, she looked at him. "Why are you grinning like that?"

He leaned closer. "To put it simply, I have witnessed something that could change the game."

Her eyebrows went up, intrigued. "You? Are you working on something amazing? It would be the first time.

Mark laughed. Not quite me. However, I may be involved in it very soon.

As if she could read between the lines, she squinted her eyes. "John?"

He took a drink of his lukewarm coffee and grinned broadly without immediately responding.

After letting out a breath through her nose, Sarah went back to her screen. He is not tough enough to live here. It has always been.

"Yes," Mark answered quietly, his gaze straying. "But sometimes soft people create sharp things."

---

John hardly noticed the passage of time. The world beyond his screen vanished. He sketched out the user engagement system, analyzed possible UI processes, and improved the interface design. Every neuron in this project was firing in unison, and he was alive. He included ideas into this campaign that he had put on hold for years because they lacked funds or backing, giving them a fresh lease of life.

He had a proposal overview, three main campaign branches, and a basic model of the app simulation that would encourage investor participation by the second day. Despite his lack of sleep, he was propelled by his adrenaline. He was holding on to this with both hands, his lifeline.

Late that afternoon, Mark went back to their common workstation. Before he looked at John's screen, he sat down idly, cracked his knuckles, and turned slowly in his chair.

"Are you still using this?" Mark enquired.

John gave a nod. Making headway. I believe I have something that might persuade Black to think again before cutting the power.

Mark leaned in. "May I have another look?"

After a moment of hesitation, John flipped the screen. "Yes."

He showed Mark the latest features, including the gamified interaction system, the user-tracked engagement metrics, the immersive "Reality Layers" experience, and how influencers could easily join in to create natural virality. John's words came out more quickly as he talked, and each syllable showed his intensity.

Mark nodded slowly as he listened intently. Have you considered presenting this to another person? Better somewhere?

John blinked. "Leave BlackStar, you mean?"

Mark's head cocked. "Why not? This is gold for you. Black is only trying to find a lifeboat.

After a moment of hesitation, John shook his head. "No. I owe them. I owe myself. I want this to be finished. If it does not work, I will give it some thought.

Although it did not reach his eyes, Mark grinned. "As loyal as ever."

---

Harris Black convened an initial meeting the next morning to examine innovative ideas. Only the department heads and a select few preferred staff were there, and it was casual. On that short list was Mark. John wasn't.

Mark was early.

He had a neatly bound, recently printed portfolio with him. His name appeared at the top of the pages. *Reality Layers: An Innovative Immersion Engagement Campaign* is the title.

Everything that John had made.

Mark stood opposite from him, calm and assured, as Black silently skimmed the first few pages.

With a wrinkled brow, Black mumbled, "This is... different." "An engaging experience. many digital platforms. Evolution of users in real time?

Mark pitched it as if he had lived and breathed it personally when he remarked, "It is a hybrid system." "Influencer psychology meets augmented reality." We market the environment surrounding the product, not the product itself.

Black turned a new page. "This may work. Does anybody else know about it?

Mark grinned stoically. "Just me, sir."

---

It was not until noon that John learned.

While carrying a cold lunch on his way back from the café, he noticed two colleagues talking close to the printer.

"Have you seen Mark's presentation? It was crazy. A marketing beast with AR integration."I understand. Black seemed to have received a golden ticket.

John came to a halt, his sandwich gone from his grasp.

He turned slowly, approached, and cut in as lightly as possible. "What was it that Mark brought?"

The two guys gave him a perplexed look. "The campaign issue? from the review in the morning?

"Campaign?" John's voice broke. "What sort of campaign?"

They went into detail about it. Each and every word. All systems. each distinct component. He owned it. Everything.

There was a brief haze in the hallway. His eyes swam. He gasped for air. No, no. This is not possible.

His hands were tight as he strode to Mark's desk.

Mark was not present.

Disbelief and anger boiled in John's chest as he turned toward the elevator after staring at the vacant chair.

When he arrived at the executive level, Black's aide stopped him at the front desk.

With her eyes on her screen, she said, "He is in a meeting."

"I must see him. John emphasized that it is vital.

"Return tomorrow. Perhaps.

---

John sat in his flat that night with his phone dark, lights off, and supper unfinished.

He gazed at his screen. The files from the campaign remained unopened. *JohnTurner_RevivalDraft3* is still the name.

He still had not given them a new name.

Leaning back, he gave a sour chuckle. In the quiet, the sound reverberated hollowly.

How foolish he had been. letting Mark know about it. having faith in him. allowing optimism to override prudence.

The betrayal was personal as well as professional. He had been friends with Mark. They had shared meals, dreams, and dormitories. Sarah, too...

At the moment, he did not even want to consider her.

A crater-like hole began to grow in John's chest, drawing everything down into it. His hands were shaking slowly as he closed his laptop.

His goal, his job stability, and the last vestige of devotion he had were all gone in a single morning.

And for some reason, he sensed that the worst was yet to come.