The financial chokehold hadn't worked as HydraCorp planned. AquaPure was battered, yes, but not broken. Grassroots support was patching holes faster than HydraCorp could tear them open.
So HydraCorp shifted the battlefield once more—this time, from money to reputation.
It began with whispers online. Anonymous accounts on Facebook and Twitter spread posts claiming Rafael was secretly funded by "foreign agents" trying to destabilize the Philippines. Meme pages mocked him as a scammer, comparing AquaPure filters to "glorified plastic straws."
Then came the videos—slick, professional, but full of lies. One claimed Rafael had stolen intellectual property from HydraCorp during a supposed stint as a "junior consultant" (a job he never had). Another accused AquaPure of knowingly selling defective filters to flood victims.
The hashtags trended fast: #ScamPure and #FraudCruz.
Maria slammed her phone on the table. "Boss, this isn't random trolls. These are HydraCorp bots. Paid campaigns."
Rafael stayed quiet, scrolling through the posts. Each lie dug like a thorn under the skin. Some were laughable, but others—half-truths twisted into poison—hit harder.
The Codex pulsed coldly in his mind:
"Threat analysis: Reputation warfare initiated. Objective: Undermine public trust in leadership. Countermeasures:
— Radical transparency.
— Third-party testimonials.
— Expose HydraCorp's propaganda networks indirectly.
Survival probability: 57%."
That same evening, reporters camped outside the warehouse gate, shouting questions.
"Mr. Dela Cruz, did you fake your prototype data?"
"Is it true you were paid by a foreign NGO to discredit HydraCorp?"
"Did AquaPure sell unsafe filters to relief groups in Tacloban?"
Workers tensed at the barrage, but Rafael stepped forward, his voice steady.
"Everything we make is tested. Every peso we receive is documented. And every accusation you've heard is a HydraCorp fantasy. But don't take my word for it—ask the people drinking clean water because of AquaPure."
The next day, he launched a counteroffensive. With Codex guidance, he built an online portal: OpenBooks.AquaPure.ph. Every financial record, every supply invoice, every lab test—they were all uploaded, accessible to anyone.
Then came the testimonials. Videos from flood survivors, rural families, and volunteer doctors poured in. A mother holding her child: "Without AquaPure, my baby would still be drinking from the river." A relief worker: "We tested HydraCorp's filters. They failed. AquaPure didn't."
The public ledger and raw stories spread fast. Students weaponized memes in return: HydraCorp's glossy ads edited with the caption, "Fake News, Real Thirst." Hashtag #ChooseClean surged again, overtaking HydraCorp's smear.
Still, not all damage could be undone. Sponsors pulled back "to wait for clarity." Politicians distanced themselves. And late at night, alone in his office, Rafael read the nastiest comments—ones that called him a liar, a thief, a parasite—and felt the weight pressing down.
The Codex broke his spiral with a chilling new alert:
"Credibility under attack. Next escalation predicted: Character assassination through fabricated evidence. Probability: 74%."
HydraCorp wasn't done yet. Lies were one thing. But soon, they'd try to create "proof."