That night, the app changed.
Damion leaned closer to the camera. “Because the alternative is worse. I tried being real once. No one downloaded that version.”
He called in sick. Bought sunglasses he couldn’t afford. Walked into a rooftop bar he’d always passed by. For an hour, he felt like Damion—light, loose, alive. Then his credit card declined. The bartender gave him a look. He went home.
This time, Damion was in a private jet, holding a glass of champagne. “You work too much,” he said. “When’s the last time you felt the sun on your skin?” Leo tried to close the app, but his thumb wouldn’t move. Damion smiled. “Let me show you how to live.”
Wednesday: Damion in a hammock, somewhere tropical. “You call that living? I call it waiting to die.”
By Thursday, Leo started believing him.