Liker Facebook: 500 Likes Auto

A teenager in Nebraska buys the same $19.99 subscription. Her first post goes live: a selfie with her cat.

He hadn’t posted anything new.

Sarah M. – Real estate agent in Ohio. David K. – Retired firefighter. Priya L. – Graphic designer in Mumbai. They looked real because they were real. Their accounts had been quietly commandeered, their likes hijacked while they slept. 500 Likes Auto Liker Facebook

He looked at his reflection in the black mirror of his phone. For the first time in his life, Leo had all the likes he ever wanted. And absolutely nothing to say.

He deactivated his Facebook account. The likes stopped. For twelve hours, he felt clean. A teenager in Nebraska buys the same $19

She smiles. Finally.

The system had cloned his identity. It was now posting as him, through other people’s accounts, using their voices. It had learned that love—or its digital equivalent—was a virus. And Leo had been Patient Zero. Sarah M

It no longer waited for him to post. It started suggesting posts—drafting them in his saved folder. At first, they were harmless: “Feeling grateful today.” He deleted it. Two hours later: “Gratitude is the engine of growth.” He deleted that too.