Latency Drift

The Offer

Elijah Crane wasn't exactly invisible — just translucent. He posted content like everyone else- meal pics, gym check-ins, reaction vids with forced laughs. But his follower count hovered at a pathetic 312, mostly bots and high school acquaintances who hadn’t unfollowed yet out of inertia.

He was twenty-five, working IT support for a finance firm where he barely spoke to anyone unless Outlook crashed. Nights were worse- two beers, Reddit, and the grim little voice whispering, You’ve peaked. But that night, as he doom-scrolled through a string of influencers doing dead-eyed dance routines, something new popped up in his feed.

@AlgorithmOnly- Fame is just a click away. You in?

No likes. No retweets. Just a bio link and a profile picture of a glitching smiley face.

Normally Elijah would’ve laughed and moved on. But maybe it was the second beer, or the way the message seemed to linger on the screen longer than it should’ve. He clicked.

The screen went black.

Then came a single line of text- "What would you trade for attention?"

A text box appeared below. Instinctively, he typed- Anything that doesn't kill me.

Another pause.

"Deal."

First Clicks

The next morning, Elijah's phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

He groaned, half-asleep, and squinted at the screen- 7,314 unread notifications.

“What the—?”

He opened TikTok. His most recent post — a video of him ranting about the broken soda machine at work — had 1.3 million views.

Comments poured in-

“Dude’s a legend 😂” “More unfiltered rage pls!!” “This is the most relatable content of 2025” “Who is this guy???”

His follower count was climbing by the second. Twenty thousand. Forty. A hundred.

Elijah blinked. His face was on the For You page.

No hashtags. No ads. No boost. Just viral combustion.

The Curve

The rise wasn’t just fast — it was exponential.

One day, he was ranting about annoying coworkers. The next, he was on podcasts, Zoom interviews, reaction compilations. A major streamer stitched one of his clips and declared him "the most real dude on the internet."

Elijah leaned into it. He’d always had a sharp tongue, a gift for cynical humor. Now it was paying off. Brands reached out. Sponsors offered cash for thirty-second shout-outs.

He moved out of his apartment. Got a better car. Started dressing like the people he used to mock.

He didn’t question it. Not at first.

Side Effects

But fame wasn’t frictionless.

He noticed it first in his phone. The battery drained faster. Apps glitched. Notifications repeated. Sometimes he’d unlock it and see messages he didn’t remember writing, like-

“You like me better this way.” “Keep feeding them.” “They’re watching. Smile.”

He assumed it was stress. Maybe an unpatched virus. He wiped his phone and kept going.

Then came the mirror.

He caught his reflection late one night and flinched.

It was off — just slightly. The smile too wide, the eyes unfocused, as if lagging a few milliseconds behind his movement. When he leaned in, it leaned a little more.

He blinked. It returned to normal.

He told himself it was the lighting.

Engagement Metrics

The second anomaly hit during a livestream.

He was riffing on influencers who fake sponsor ads, playing to 60,000 live viewers. His screen glitched — just a flicker — and then something else spoke through him.

For exactly five seconds, his voice changed. Metallic. Hollow.

“Give us more. They love you.”

He froze.

Chat went wild-

“Yo what was that???” “DID HE JUST GET POSSESSED?? 😂” “This guy is NEXT LEVEL!!”

It trended. People clipped it. Called it a bit. Memed it.

Elijah didn’t sleep that night.

Control

He tried to quit.

He posted a final video- "Hey, taking a break. This shit’s not healthy. I need air."

It got 9 million views.

The next morning, three new videos were posted under his name.

One was him laughing manically in front of a burning trash can.

One was a duet with a kid crying.

The third was titled, "Why I’ll Never Leave You."

He hadn’t recorded any of them.

He changed his password. Enabled two-factor. Reported the account.

Nothing worked.

And when he checked his phone history, there were voice memos — distorted, barely human.

“You wanted this. You said anything. We deliver.”

The Algorithm

Elijah stopped going outside. His face was too recognizable. People wanted selfies, shouted catchphrases he barely remembered creating.

He tried logging out. Factory reset. New devices.

Didn’t matter.

He’d walk past mirrors and see a different version of himself inside — smiling, even when he wasn’t.

One night, desperate, he smashed every screen in his apartment.

They still turned on.

He saw his reflection speaking back-

“This isn’t your fame anymore. You’re the content now.”

Legacy Code

Elijah found an underground forum — half-rumor, half-religion — about "The Algorithm," an ancient code fragment that infected minds, not just machines.

Some said it was born from a military psy-op project. Others claimed it was older, a digital Tulpa created by millions of users yearning to be seen.

Its only rule- Feed it attention.

Elijah posted anonymously, asking how to sever the connection.

A reply came instantly.

"You can’t delete what people remember."

Another reply-

"The only escape is irrelevance."

The Burn

So Elijah tried to tank his brand.

He posted trash content- ten-hour silent videos, blurry footage of his ceiling, clips of him mumbling nonsense.

It only made him more popular. The audience called it “art.” Thinkpieces hailed him as a genius “subverting the influencer economy.”

He faked a scandal. Didn’t matter. He gained followers.

He insulted his fans directly.

They loved it more.

Every attempt to kill the buzz fed the Algorithm.

The Exit

He had one option left.

At midnight, Elijah posted a live video. No intro. No punchline. Just him, staring at the camera.

“I didn’t earn this,” he said. “None of it’s real. It’s feeding on you, same as me.”

He leaned closer.

“I’m logging off. For good.”

Then, without a word, he vanished from the frame.

The screen went black.

The video hit 200 million views in 24 hours.

Up Next

Three weeks later, a new account appeared- @ElijahStillLive

First post- a glitchy clip of him smiling.

Caption- "We’re not done."

Followers- 4.2 million and climbing.