Eli didn't sleep that night.
He just lay there, staring at the faint red glow of his dead wristband, waiting for a notification that never came.
His room used to hum with life—holo-posters auto-refreshing, his smart speakers tracking trending songs.
Now, everything was offline.
When he blinked, even the **ads** refused to load.
It was like the internet had decided: *he didn't exist.*
He tried again—
New account. New username. New profile picture.
**"Account creation failed. User already exists."**
He slammed the desk. "I *don't* exist! That's the problem!"
The error just blinked back, cold and cruel.
By morning, Eli's name had already become a rumor.
Kids whispered it in hallways.
*The boy who glitched out.*
*The ghost user.*
*The one who can't go viral.*
No one said it to his face, though. Not when the school's cameras were always watching.
At lunch, he sat alone.
The cafeteria buzzed with selfie sounds and notification chimes.
Nova Reyes, as usual, sat in the center of it all. Her FameScore hovered above her head like a halo: **9.9**, almost perfect.
Every time she blinked, her AR recorded it. Every word was tagged, captioned, and shared in real time.
Her followers commented faster than she could breathe.
*#NovaLunchLook 🍓🔥*
*She's literally glowing today!*
Eli watched, half in awe, half in disgust.
He used to think Nova's fame was natural—like gravity.
Now, he could see the machine behind it, pulsing and alive.
He took out his old tablet, opened the school social feed, and searched his name.
Nothing.
Not a trace.
Even *old posts* from years ago were gone.
He opened the comments section of a group project he'd done with Zane last semester. His name had been replaced with:
**"User Removed for Policy Violation."**
He whispered, "What policy?"
Zane came up behind him, whispering too. "Dude, stop looking that up. The system tracks what you search."
Eli frowned. "Then why aren't they tracking me?"
Zane hesitated. "That's what freaks me out."
They both fell silent as the school speaker crackled again:
"Attention students: The administration is aware of recent rumors regarding unregistered users. Please report suspicious activity to your class monitors immediately."
A dozen eyes flicked toward Eli.
He stood up, tray clattering, and left.
Outside, the air shimmered faintly with the city's digital grid. Every movement left trails of data—tags, pings, motion sensors.
He used to love that shimmer. It made him feel connected. Seen.
Now, it just looked like a net—one he'd somehow slipped through.
He wandered toward the old west wing—the one with broken routers and spotty signal.
And there, in the silence of disconnection, he heard something strange.
A voice.
Not through his earphones. Not through a screen.
A *real* voice.
"Hey," it said. "You're Eli, right?"
He turned.
Nova Reyes stood in the doorway, holding her phone like a weapon.
Her holographic eyes scanned him from head to toe.
"You're the kid the Algorithm can't track."
He swallowed. "You shouldn't be here."
She smirked. "Neither should you."
Nova lifted her phone, recording.
The red light blinked.
"Smile," she said. "Let's see if you show up."
She filmed for five seconds, then checked her screen.
Her face froze.
"What the…"
The video was black. Her voice played, but his image wasn't there—just static, like the camera refused to render him.
She looked at him again, wide-eyed.
"You're real, right?"
"I think so."
She lowered the phone slowly, her expression shifting from curiosity to wonder.
"This is insane," she whispered. "You're like… a digital ghost."
He tried to joke, but his voice cracked. "Cool. Maybe I'll start haunting TikStream."
She didn't laugh. "You don't get it. You're the first person I've ever met who can't go viral."
He frowned. "And that's… bad?"
"In this world?" she said softly. "That's impossible."