(Also in this scenario I can walk between worlds because it's my post I'm having fun.)
This was my home once, the realm I settled in as the BBS systems collapsed in the waning days of the old internet, as the GeoCities turned to ghost towns and Angelfire burned away the last of what had Once Been. As AOL collapsed into a singularity and AIM was annihilated with it, Facebook was an island of stability.
Stability, but not safety. The world was dominated once by a hundred small Empires, the College Realms. Each had its own fiefdom, and even to exist upon this sphere a visitor needed the sacred rite to be completed - a college admission marked by a seal of the DotEdu. It was the successor world in the collapse of MySpace. Some remember the College Era as a thing of beauty and wonder.
That is nostalgia. They met people within the College Realms and made friendships there, blinding them to the rot that existed even then.
Then came the Great Opening, when Facebook was made free to all. No longer were the gates kept! It could have been glorious. But at the same time, the Advertisers were allowed greater access.
Facebook became a ravenous empire, feeding on its subject’s data. Perhaps it always was. They name the front page the Feed, for that is what they do. Feed and feed and feed.
I go there still, sometimes. I walk amongst what was once a…not a beautiful city. But a functional one. The roads lead to posts. The posts were made by my friends. I could see their words. I walk on one of those roads.
I see an Article. It floats above the road, ten feet tall with a robe that trails the worn cobblestones. It bars my path. A friend’s post sits behind it. I try to sneak past.
My step misses. I touched the Article. The robe is pulled aside, and I can see its Comments Section. A hundred glittering insects writhe and chitter, hidden beneath its layers of cloth. They are consuming themselves. They are consuming the articles. They see me. They scream a slur. I step back, the robe falls shut.
The Article has seen me. It lets out a deep, mournful wail.
The Algorithm hears and responds. A dozen more Articles like it begin to approach. They will surround me. They want my Click. They want my Engagement. Above all else, they want me in the Comments Section. The hive would consume me. I would become one of the hive.
I swipe, and pull up the search bar. I type in the name of a group I have enjoyed. I am transported.
The groups are still kingdoms where there is safety. The Articles do not reign here as they do in the Feed. One of the inhabitants taps my shoulder. He is handsome. He is healthy. “Sylvia,” he says. “We remember you here.”
“Thank you,” I say, offering my hand.
He grabs me by the wrist. His grip is strong, strong as iron. There are worms under his skin. A Nascent Comments Section. “Would you like 10 ways to improve your credit?” he hisses, and he grows, and he grows, and his robes trail to the ground.
This group has been taken over by Click Farms.
I swipe hard. Away from the world entirely. He screeches. “The Algorithm will remember you! Your data has been logged!”
He is right. When I return, the Articles will be waiting.
The Feed is hungry.
This realm is no longer safe. It has become part of the Meta. I could explore the other realms of the Meta from here. Instagram. Threads. It would be easy. So easy.
I head instead towards home. Discord remains safe from the Articles and the Algorithms.
For now.