Chapter 7 New chapter begins

A new chapter begins. * A new mission flashed underneath it: "Unveil the Unreal." Openly oppose a phony authority. +15% of the population

John tightened his jaw. He was being tempted once again by the app, which demanded another public altercation.

John called Olivia the next morning. On the first ring, she responded. "Hi."

"Mark was marketed by BlackStar, Liv. He is presently the vice president. His voice broke. "They gave him credit for everything."

A lengthy pause ensued. "What?" Her voice became icy. "That haughty-"

He interrupted, "I know." "But I want to give it some thought before we make any snap decisions."

"Consider it carefully?" Olivia's frustration reverberated. "John, he is climbing their ladder after stealing your work and taking over the stage."

John slumped down on his stool in the kitchen. "I would want to leave the money to the investors. A quarrel is not what I desire. All I want to do is construct Reality Layers without any drama.

Another pause. Olivia exhaled at last. "This world is too good for you."

He forced a feeble grin. "Perhaps. Or maybe I am just exhausted.

She became softer. "All right. But you are aware that the software wants you to defend yourself, are not you?

She could not see him, but he nodded. "I understand. I just I am not sure whether I want to spend my whole life fighting all the time.

Olivia's tone hardened. Let BlackStar hang themselves after that. We pay attention to our investors. We construct. Mark is merely a suit without technology, so he can keep his fancy title.

Tension fading, John let out a breath. "You are correct. Let us take that action.

---

John showed up that afternoon in a co-working location they had leased with money from investors. They had relocated their headquarters completely outside of BlackStar's orbit and out of Olivia's little apartment. They were met with a leased server box, a dozen desks, and whiteboards.

Olivia walked in with coffee as he was unpacking his laptop. She placed a cup in front of him. "This is it. Brew without black.

He chuckled. "Thank you."

Coding, creating investor dashboards, writing press statements announcing their collaboration, and building their brand as "a BlackStar spin-off, independent, innovation-driven" were all part of their productive routine.

Minutes flew by in the hours. John felt real momentum for the first time, this was *his* initiative, free from corporate plunder.

However, his phone buzzed around 5:00 p.m. A push alert from the application: "Your next task is to expose a false story in public. Make the official falsehood public.

John gazed at the display. His finger lingered. He could not get the phrase "Expose the Unreal" out of his head.

Olivia glanced behind him. "Will you do it?"

He let out a breath. "Not in this place. Not right now. No more waging old wars; we are creating something constructive.

She gave a nod. "Good response."

His phone was locked. The alert disappeared.

John sat by himself that night, watching the city lights from the rooftop patio of their co-working space. The skyline was glistening with potential. Cars weaved like fireflies below. Amidst corporate champagne and vacuous accolades, Mark was being praised by BlackStar's board somewhere.

John closed his eyes and let the bustle of the city to calm him. He reflected about Olivia's steadfast support, the investors who had faith in him, and the enigmatic app that had led him down this road.

He recalled the day his own brainchild was stolen, the first selfie, the kitty chase, and the viral moment. Anger flashed across his mind, but it was gone now, like a storm that had passed.

Reaching into his pocket, he took his phone out. The emblem of the app shone at him. With his thumb poised, he paused, but he chose not to open it. He put it back in his pocket instead.

"This time, it is not about dismantling lies," he said to the darkness. It is about creating something tangible.

And John Turner, no longer just an office drudge or a betrayed creator felt the first steady pulse of a future he would create on his own terms as the wind carried his words into the metropolis below.