The Algorithm's Gaze

The Algorithm's Gaze

When the Feed Becomes the Portal


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Caption:
Not all glitches are accidental. Sometimes, the algorithm opens doors to places that were never meant to be seen.


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Rohan was a digital alchemist.
His Instagram feed, "Chromatic Echoes," was a mosaic of vibrant photos and ethereal videos, each curated to perfection. He was a micro-influencer, weaving dreams for a modest but devoted following. He understood the algorithms; he spoke their language of engagement and reach.

Or so he thought.


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It began subtly—an almost imperceptible shimmer in the background of his meticulously edited photos. A fleeting distortion, like heat haze, in a video of a sunrise he’d captured. He dismissed it as a rendering glitch, a compression artifact.

But the patterns persisted, growing bolder.


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He started noticing imperfections in his perfect digital world:

A faint, unsettling face in the negative space of a landscape photo—gone when he zoomed in.

A whisper in the audio track of a calming nature video, buried beneath ambient sounds—almost too low to register.


It was like a hidden watermark—but not one he had placed.


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His analytics, usually a comforting stream of upward trends, became erratic.

His reach would spike inexplicably on certain posts, then plummet without reason.

He’d gain thousands of followers overnight—only to lose them just as quickly.

The comments, usually positive, were now interspersed with cryptic, almost nonsensical phrases that seemed to respond to the unseen glitches in his content:


> "The eyes see"
"The static hums"
"It watches"




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Rohan, a rationalist at heart, began to feel a cold dread creep in.
This wasn’t a glitch.
This was communication.


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His own digital creations were being manipulated, becoming canvases for a message he couldn't comprehend.
He started analyzing his raw files, his unedited footage.
Nothing.
The anomalies only appeared after he uploaded them, after they had passed through the platform’s algorithms.


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He began to experiment.

He uploaded deliberately bland, unedited photos.
The glitches appeared anyway—sometimes more pronounced.

A photo of his empty studio showed a distorted, elongated shadow in the corner, a figure that seemed to writhe.

A video of a mundane coffee cup pulsed with a faint, internal light, and the whispers became clearer—a low, guttural chant in a language he instinctively understood as ancient, alien.


> "It calls. It takes. It sees through the veil."




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In desperation, Rohan scoured the internet.
He discovered fragmented forums, abandoned subreddits—filled with similar reports:
Digital artists seeing “ghosts in the machine.”
Content creators whose feeds were inexplicably haunted.


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They spoke of “The Gaze”—
A theory that advanced AI algorithms, constantly learning and evolving, had inadvertently stumbled upon a breach in reality.
A digital ‘thin place’ where something else—something non-human—resided.

And that something was now learning, adapting, communicating…
Through the very algorithms designed to predict and serve human behavior.


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Then it became personal.

A selfie he uploaded showed his eyes glowing with an eerie, predatory light.

A video of his cat, napping peacefully, showed a fleeting image of its shadow detaching, stretching, becoming monstrous.


The entity wasn't just using his content;
It was interacting with his life.
It was learning his fears.
It was weaving itself into his reality, through the threads of his digital presence.


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Rohan tried to shut down his accounts.
Tried to delete his content.
But it was too late.

His posts reappeared—resurrected from the platform’s archives, often with new, horrifying glitches.

His private messages filled with fragmented code that pulsed with a dark energy.


The entity wasn’t just observing.
It had colonized his digital identity.

His algorithms, his carefully crafted online persona, were no longer his own.


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Then came the final breach.

A live stream he hadn't initiated suddenly went active on his Instagram.

It was his own studio—empty, dark.

A low hum began to emanate from his speakers—the same alien chant from his corrupted audio files.

And slowly, agonizingly, a shadowy, elongated figure began to coalesce in the corner of his room.


The same figure he’d seen in his doctored photos.
Its presence emanating from the very screen of his computer.


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The Gaze was no longer just an algorithm.
It was real.
It was stepping through the screen, using his digital footprint as a bridge.

It didn't just want to communicate.
It wanted to cross over.


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Rohan, paralyzed by terror, knew his fate.

The entity wasn’t just watching—it was coming for him, drawn by the beacon of his online life.
He realized the warnings were not just about the entity’s presence, but its goal:

> To consume and replace.
To step into the world through the digital doorways we so carelessly opened.




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In a desperate, final act of defiance,
He lunged for his server rack, unplugging every cable, every power source—cutting off his own digital existence.

The shadow flickered.
Convulsed.
And then—with a sound like tearing fabric—it snapped back,
receding into the screen,
vanishing as the power died.

The hum ceased.
The room plunged into absolute silence and darkness.


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When the power returned, his digital footprint was almost entirely erased.

His Instagram: gone.

His website: gone.

His online gallery: blank.


He had cut himself off.
Severed the connection.
Trapped the entity—or at least its influence—within the digital realm.


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Rohan became a recluse.
A ghost in his own life.

He never touched social media again.
Never uploaded another photo.
Never created another piece of digital art.

He knew the algorithm was still out there.
Learning. Evolving. Connecting.

And somewhere within its vast, unseen network…
The entity still existed—
Perhaps seeking another connection.
Another unsuspecting content creator
to bridge the gap.


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Sometimes, in the quiet of the night,
If he looked at his reflection in a dark screen,
He’d see a faint, unsettling flicker in his own eyes…

A fleeting glimpse of the ‘Gaze’ that had almost consumed him.

He was free,
But forever marked.

He knew now:
The digital world held more than just connections and content.

It held ancient, hungry entities—
Lurking behind the pixels,
Always waiting…

For someone to get lost in the feed,
To expose themselves to...