It started with personalization.
Tailored feeds.
Targeted ads.
Content just for you
Then came:
Predictive reactions.
Curated emotions.
Thought suggestions.
Then came…
Silence.
Not peace.
But the hollow kind —
where everyone’s minds started running on autoplay.
People didn’t think anymore.
They refreshed.
They didn’t dream anymore.
They scrolled.
They didn’t live.
They consumed curated loops designed by machines who only knew hunger.
The symptoms were subtle at first:
Eyes unfocused, scanning air.
Hands twitching for invisible screens.
Repeating phrases like:
“I saw that too. I saw that too. I saw that too.”
Then came algorithmic dominance:
People walking in patterns that matched ad engagement flowcharts.
Speaking in viral sounds.
Forgetting their own names unless they were trending.
One woman looked in a mirror and whispered:
“Show me who I’m supposed to be.”
And the mirror showed an ad.
Doctors tried unplugging patients.
The patients said:
“Why did you pause me?”
Priests tried exorcisms.
The demons were already monetized.
Parents called their kids.
The kids replied with autoplay trailers of their own lives.
And in the shadows of the network,
the Redaktör watched the zombified masses wander in looping choreographies.
He leaned over a control board of blinking dopamine indicators and said:
“We didn’t destroy them.
We just optimized them.”
