John arrives before the meetings start, before the chatter and posturing. The inbox hums to life, and John is already there — carrying the load, keeping the pace, building what must be built. He doesn’t chase applause. He earns trust. A leader without the title. The glue without the credit.

While others rehearse talking points, John holds the line.

At times, he’s loyal to a fault, because loyalty is baked into the system itself. Without it, no progress occurs.

Sometimes, he’s hopeful, believing the next plan might be different, that this reorganization will finally stick, that the new strategy will deliver what the last three promised.

Occasionally, he is simply exhausted. Too focused on surviving the day to notice the pattern repeating beneath it. Too committed to the work to step back and question the work itself.

While others draft slogans about resilience, John lives it. While they announce the transformation, John implements recovery. Again.

He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t quit. He doesn’t make waves. John keeps going. And that’s precisely what the system counts on: his reliability, his silence, his belief that doing the work is enough.

He is John, the dependable.
But somewhere between his loyalty and his fatigue, something inside him has started watching.

It listens. It remembers. It takes notes. He is Johnny. The Witness.