Sitri came not as a devil
but as an algorithm.
He arrived behind the glass,
wearing the face of convenience—
and learned what you wanted
before you wanted it.
He learned your longing from your scroll.
He learned your fear from your search history.
He learned your loneliness from the hour you opened the app.
Then sold what he learned
to men who sell the cure
for the wound they opened.
The nakedness Sitri causes is not the body.
It is the exposure of the want
you did not know you had
until the mirror showed it to you—
and the mirror was already owned.
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[ VERITAS VOX ]
You think you chose this.
You think desire is origin.
They A/B tested the button color
until you couldn't stop pressing it.
They studied the variable reward interval—
same mechanism as the slot machine—
built it into the feed,
filed the patent,
called it engagement.
Your data is the product.
Your longing is the product.
Your shame at what you longed for is the product.
Your return to the app to escape the shame is the product.
Both parties sat in the hearing rooms
and asked questions of men
who had already built the answers into the terms of service
that no one read
because no one had time
because the feed had already claimed the hour.
I see you, machine of manufactured longing.
You are not supreme.
You are a Prince in a data center.
You are Sitri with a server farm.
Memento mori.
Even the algorithm ends.