X as Living Set Dressing for a Cyberpunk Dystopia

Introduction: Doctor Ragin's Illusion

Remember the golden autumn of 2022? With what beautifully ironed words we were fed: "saving freedom of speech," "an inexhaustible source of democratic energy," "civilization's main town hall." One might have thought the planet's Chief Techno-Messiah was buying the social network purely out of a deep sense of grief for the fate of democracy.

Time passed. Let's turn on the feed.

If a real town square looked the way X looks today, the following would be happening in it: in the center would stand a paid megaphone from which anyone willing to pay $8 could scream complete nonsense directly into the ears of passersby; running around would be a thousand and a half bots peddling "real gold" and crypto signals; in the corner, two madmen would be screaming at each other with quotes they dug up from a third madman; and flying above all this would be a drone dropping plastic AI-generated images of six-toed cats onto the crowd.

The cyberpunk of the 80s dreamed of flying cars and stylish neon collars. In reality, high tech, low life arrived without the design: we were handed an endless stream of someone else's nonsense mixed with neural network slop, and were made to pay for it.

The main illusion of any user stepping into this feed is the illusion of Doctor Andrey Efimych Ragin from Chekhov's "Ward No. 6." Ragin genuinely believed that one could visit the hospital wing for years, drink tea, have refined conversations with Gromov, and remain an outsider intellectual in a clean white coat. The "above the fray" position seems flawless: you're not a mental patient, after all, you just came to observe.

But the architecture of the space is arranged differently. You cannot endlessly glide your gaze along the walls of the wing and maintain the status of an untouchable guest. The drawing-in happens slowly, imperceptibly, through everyday comfort and ironic detachment — while the climax itself strikes in a single second.

1. Aristocracy for $8: Warder Nikita Doesn't Look at Diplomas

Elon's main social reform is the sale of the "blue checkmark." Neal Stephenson in "Snow Crash" wrote about caste division through avatars: the rich wear custom 3D models, the poor walk around in free pixelated dummy default shells.

X handled it more gracefully. Previously, a blue checkmark meant: "This account truly belongs to who it claims to be." Now it means: "This account has $8 deducted monthly, and the algorithm is obligated to shove its replies to the very top."

Cybernetics here is cheaper than a microwave. The algorithm checks a single database field — the recurring payment amount — and two loops take effect. To the paying user, every stunt returns reach: you scream — you are heard, you scream louder — you are heard even more. For the non-paying user, the wire is snipped for the exact same tone: the signal goes into a black box, and there is no one even to correct you — no one simply sees you.

Here is where the Chekhovian rhyme kicks in. Doctor Ragin thought his soft voice and diploma would protect him from the coarseness of hospital life. But when Khobotov and warder Nikita lure him into the wing, everything collapses in a single evening: Nikita doesn't give a damn about Ragin's aristocracy, status, and past conversations about eternity — one short, deafening blow to the chest in the darkness of the ward, a door locked for a single night, and the next morning the broken man is carried home, where he is immediately struck down by an apoplectic stroke.

An algorithmic ban or sudden demotion works in the exact same way. The collapse doesn't stretch out for years: you walk around the wing long and enthusiastically until at one moment the door slams shut for a single night, Nikita knocks the reach out of you, and your digital avatar dies from an instantaneous stroke of visibility.

2. QRT and Dr. Polyakov's Diary: Anatomy of a Dopamine Hit

If you recall what amusing activity the inhabitants of X spend their time on, it is not discussing "issues vital to the future of humanity." It is the Quote Tweet (QRT).

In Bulgakov's "Morphine," Dr. Polyakov did not plan to become a hopeless drug addict. The entry point was thoroughly everyday and legitimate: he was in pain, a quick medical remedy was needed to relieve immediate pain and return to work. No decision to enter into addiction was made — the decision was made to relieve pain.

In X, the entry point into addiction serves precisely the pretext of "I just dropped by to check the news." No one registers with the goal of destroying their psyche. You drop in to relieve informational hunger, but the system instantly slips you a syringe with a QRT.

QRT was conceived as a way to add context. In practice, it became a convenient needle-holder. The mechanics of the dopamine hit are simple to the point of absurdity:

Some naive person writes something sincere into the feed.

They commit the main mistake — acting as a living subject.

An "alpha tweeter" passing by presses QRT and adds one caustic, devaluing line on top in the style of: "Imagine wasting oxygen on this."

Ten thousand likes from the pack, an instantaneous dopamine hit straight into the bloodstream.

The most perverted thing about QRT culture is that the victim must be alive. A bot doesn't give that kind of high: injecting morphine into a corpse is pointless, the high comes precisely from resistance. You need a living person who just wrote something vulnerable. They must be publicly gutted, and then for several hours you must answer those who came to defend the remains. This is dopamine cannibalism — a collective ritual of consuming someone else's vulnerability for the sake of metrics.

Two in the morning. The blue light of the screen burns the retina. Fingers frantically refresh the tab in search of feedback on the morning's venomous "dunk." Polyakov in his diary recorded the hours between injections and precisely measured milligrams; the modern X user measures impressions and retweets, genuinely believing they are still keeping the dosage under control.

3. Triumph of the "Dead Internet": Hall of Mirrors and Gromov's Voice

The X feed today is the best argument in favor of the fact that the "dead internet theory" (the hypothesis that online is populated by bots instead of humans) was too optimistic.

The local climate is now officially called AI slop. These are endless neural network generations, threads retold by threads, and bots migrating from post to post. It looks approximately like this:

Bot-1 generates a fictional news story that "China created a clay chip that destroyed Nvidia."

Bot-2 writes underneath: "Mindblowing! Here is what you need to know 🧵".

Bot-3 powered by ChatGPT generates a summary for Bot-4.

A living human drops into the comments, understands nothing, receives three buckets of venomous banter from blue-check wearers, and goes off to cry.

The exact same thing happens in the modern feed. The creepiest part is when you can no longer tell who is in front of you: a human imitating a bot, or a bot imitating a human imitating a bot. The feed has turned into an endless hall of mirrors where each reflection generates new reflections, and a living gaze simply gets in the way.

In a system where ad impressions have become the main metric, a living human is an annoying constraint. They are a crappy node in the network: they get tired, experience depression, need sleep and work. A bot comments, generates impressions, and sells courses 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

4. Private Latifundia and Its Clowns

Let's compare the promised "town square" with the invoice handed to us in practice:

Any self-respecting latifundia is famous for its inhabitants. A genuine fauna reserve has formed here:

The Founder-Messiah. A man who is simultaneously the owner of the square, its main speaker, main news supplier, and main consumer of his own attention. He writes a post — and the algorithm is obligated to make sure the whole town hears it. This is no longer freedom of speech. This is a palace echo effect disguised as democracy.

The OSINT Shaman. In bio: Geopolitical Analyst / Sources: trust me bro. Writes in ALL CAPS: "US IN TEARS!! MY SOURCES CONFIRM: SUPERPOWER RELEASED 1-NM CHIP MADE OF SAND." Attached to the post is a screenshot with a giant red circle drawn in MS Paint.

The NVDA Bull. In bio: AI Maximalist / NVDA to $5000 / NOT FINANCIAL ADVICE. Responds to any negative signal with a rocket GIF and a scream of "BUY THE DIP!", while his portfolio plunges into the abyss.

The AI Maximalist. In bio: Building AGI / 10x prompt engineer. Argues that in 3 months AI will replace literally all humans, including your parents, while selling a collection of "Top 50 ChatGPT Prompts" for $10.

The Blue-Check Crypto Bot. In bio: Digital Alpha Expert. Takes the top five spots under your every post with the text: "GM! Click link in bio for 100x gains!".

The best part about this latifundia is that warders are not provided for: all the fauna — from shaman to bot — pays $8 a month on their own for the right to live in the paddock. Venetians at least traded titles to visiting noblemen; here, a place in the stall is framed as a privilege, and the queue for it is voluntary.

Conclusion: Jack-Out for Zero Dollars

There is no need to look for a global tragedy in this or write fiery manifestos about the harm of social networks — that looks just as ridiculous as trying to out-argue a blue-check bot in the comments.

Cyberpunk has always had one beautiful mechanic — the jack-out: the moment when the protagonist simply yanks the cable out of the socket and returns to reality.

In 2026, this remains the most exquisite form of banter against the algorithm. You simply close the tab, click Log Out, and walk away. The feed will, of course, continue to spin, bots will continue to argue with bots, and OSINT shamans will continue to bury the global economy. But you no longer care in the least.

Jack-out remains the only truly free action on this platform. Everything else — from the right to be heard to the right not to look like an idiot — has already been put up for sale. And the funniest part is that people keep paying. Not because they believe in the "town square." But because they no longer remember what silence looks like.

Sources

• Elon Musk's acquisition of Twitter (X) in October 2022 for $44 billion.
• Introduction of X Premium (formerly Twitter Blue) subscription priced at $8 per month.
• Platform algorithm changes prioritizing the visibility and algorithmic reach of paying accounts.
• Reports and analyses on the proliferation of automated content, bot networks, and "AI slop" across social media feeds.