"Effective immediately, we are releasing this into the wild. If you are an artist, a roadie, a manager... take it. Use it. If a venue refuses to sign it, you know they are betting on your silence."
Then, I shifted. I let the 'manager' drop and let the angry woman surface.
"Now," I said. "Let’s talk about the video."
I didn't need to name it. Everyone who would watch this had seen the deepfake Vance released. The tearful confession. The fake Rowan admitting to being a secret Omega.
"Julian Vance released a fabricated video," I said coldly. "He used sophisticated generative AI to put words in my mouth. He made me confess to being a 'passing' Omega."
I allowed a small, dry smile to touch my lips.
"Mr. Vance tried to discredit my argument by attacking my biology. He couldn't find a flaw in the logic, so he invented a flaw in the person. But here is the reality, if you have to invent a lie to defeat an argument, the argument has already won."
I looked at the lens like it was Vance’s throat.
"The forensic documentation proving the video is a fake is now available at the link below. But honestly? It doesn't matter. Because standing right next to me is the irony that is going to end your career, Julian."
Juno stepped back into the frame. We stood shoulder to shoulder. The Beta who was accused of lying about her biology, and the Omega who had actually lived the lie to survive.
"We have uploaded seven years of my performance data," Juno said. "My cycle tracking. My client outcomes. My revenuegeneration. The data doesn't care what you believe about Omega capability. The data is the argument."
Juno looked at the camera with a look of pure, unadulterated defiance.
"Come and find it," he whispered. "If you want to disagree."
"Cut," Mateo growled.
The red light died.
I let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in my lungs since that red light had turned on, no, even before that. It was one I had been holding for my entire professional life. My knees went weak, but before I could stumble, Stephen was there, sliding a chair beneath me.
"That," Stephen said, his voice thick with pride, "Was a verdict."
"How long to upload?" Juno asked, turning immediately to the laptop, the adrenaline already sharpening his movements.
"Processing," Mateo said, tapping the screen. "Encryption key locked. Uploading to the mirror sites first."
"Send it," Rowan said.
"Done."
We stood in the silence of the cabin, the four of us, watching the progress bar fill. It was a small, green line. It looked insignificant. But it was the fuse on a bomb that was sitting under the foundation of a billion-dollar industry.
Upload Complete.
"Now," Juno said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning it on for the first time in days. "We wait for the scream."
It didn't take long.
The statement detonated across the timelines with the force of a physical impact.
We sat around the table, monitors glowing, watching the world react. It wasn't the chaotic, confused noise of the first scandal. This was different. This was organized.
"Sponsors are moving," Stephen noted, scanning a financial ticker. "Vance’s primary tour sponsor just issued a 'review of partnership' statement. That’s corporate speak for 'we are running away.'"
"Journalists are filing," I added, watching my inbox explode. "Sarah Jenkins just retweeted the link with the caption:'The mask is off.'She’s writing the retrospective now."
"Vance’s network is scrambling," Mateo said, monitoring the chatter on the security boards. "Aegis Collective Solutions just took their website offline. They’re scrubbing the servers."
