Gemotions

The phone call had been a formality, a curt message. Now, walking into the corporate headquarters, Elias’s stomach knotted. His street art, commissioned for a community project, was plastered across a massive, gleaming billboard. Only now the project was no longer about community, but promoting a new line of luxury cars.

He felt the blood drain from his face. The vibrant colors of his mural, usually a source of pride, now seemed garish, obscene. His fingers trembled as he pulled out his phone, a useless gesture. He felt a burning in his eyes.

The slick brochure in the receptionist’s hand felt like an accusation. His art, his message, had been twisted, corrupted. He took a long, shaky breath and went inside.