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The grid of faces filled the warehouse wall, two hundred and forty-seven individual feeds glowing in the dim, soundproofed room. Leo walked the narrow catwalk, clipboard in hand, watching the thumbnails breathe. A yawn here, a sip of artisanal coffee there. One woman in the Tokyo quadrant was meticulously applying eyeliner; a man in Berlin was already three hours into a silent Lego build. Leo had designed the algorithm that curated the

She picked up her sign one last time.

Mira looked down at her hidden console. For the first time in six weeks, she smiled—not for the audience, but for the tiny green dot indicating a private message. If you felt ambitious, it showed you the

"I have a window," he typed. "It faces a brick wall. But I opened it just now. It’s cold."