Viral Advertising

Written by George Jacobs for ‘Tales from Cybersalon’, June 2021.

The CityConnect train breathed to a stop at Central Station. All the passengers got off, Ren included. This was the innermost stop — the train would now head back the way it had come till it reached the outermost suburbs, then repeat, programmed to execute the journey endlessly. It was but one spoke on the CityConnect wheel.

Ren made his way through the crowd to the e-bus stop marked for city section A. There was only so far the trains could penetrate the urban sprawl, what with planning permission how it was, making roads a necessity. The driverless bus pulled up, and Ren boarded along with about twenty others. He was dressed casually, doing his best to be just another face in the crowd, nothing anyone would remember.

His phoned buzzed as it linked with the e-bus, but Ren found a seat before he took it out of his pocket. He only had a few seconds left to choose whether to play a game of Fruit Crusher, or have the £2 e-bus ride fee deducted from his account, before the later option was chosen by default. He pressed to accept the game.

It took only 30 seconds for Ren to fail the game’s first level. “Do you wish to continue?” asked the app. “Only £1 for 3 continues.” No, Ren didn’t want to continue. Yes, he was sure. His terrible score was then displayed in comparison to everyone who’d played on the e-bus that day. Judging by the scores of the top 5, some people had spent a lot more than £1 on continues. Ren closed the app and dimmed the brightness — it was vital his phone didn’t heat up enough to damage the payload.

People got on, people got off. Most people were on their phones, the bus pretty silent. But the e-bus chat was buzzing away with comments and Ren quickly muted it. He rode the e-bus all the way into the city centre, to the high-street. That’s where his target was.

The centre was busy, always was. Cafes, salons, games rooms, pick ups points, amongst much else. A hubbub of conversation, laughter, and music filled the air, punctuated by the occasional cheer as someone won a match in the arcade. All the business were local, though you’d not know that from the signs. Local Authority regulations meant everything within the city centre limits had to be independent and locally owned. It didn’t say anything about what those local businesses could advertise, however.

Ren walked past hairdressers whose windows were covered with interactive adverts for fast food chains and news stands emblazoned with QR codes promoting out of town car dealerships. His phone buzzed from notifications from the centre Wi-Fi, promising discounts, loyalty schemes, and links to online catalogues. Beneath Ren’s feet, vast warehouses thrummed with activity, robots moving items from storage to lifts which transported them up to the privately owned pick up points, as and when they were ordered.

The north end of the high-street was dominated by Dotty’s Coffee Shop. Dotty had a popular online presence, marketing herself as everyone’s lovable grandma. That online presence was something she’d been able to leverage into the best corporate sponsorships, which in turn made her the queen of the city centre. Most local businesses had no hope, they couldn’t afford the city rents without risk averse, big business support.

Heading past the wrap around tablet and phone adverts that danced across the interior screens, Ren found a table at Dotty’s and ordered a latte through the app. Around him, people sipped their coffees, a good many of them playing with electronic gadgets. One corner of the shop was given over to VR, where a large group of teenagers were playing the latest game. Ren felt a mixture of pity and loathing for them.

From the Dotty’s app, Ren opened up the master catalogue. Dotty’s offered the opportunity to trial electronic goods from several international chains. If patron’s liked them, they could order them directly through the app, getting a referral discount, and collect them from the pick up point just outside.

“Your coffee, sir.” A young waitress placed the drink on the table.

“Thanks,” said Ren.

“Would you like to sample any products from our sponsors today? We have the new Nova S3 today, exclusive to Dotty’s.”

“Actually, yes. I would like to test that phone, please.”

“No problem, sir. I’ll have someone bring one to your table.”

Ren didn’t have long to wait. Dotty’s was a slick operation, despite the old lady branding. The phone was a nice bit of kit, very powerful, very stylish, very expensive. There was no danger of theft though, anything removed from the shop would brick itself and summon the police.

As subtly as he could, Ren removed the memory wafer from his phone, and transferred it to the Nova S3, popping the slot cap and closing it up with a practised motion of his hands, his baggy hoody shielding the operation from Dotty’s cameras.

Next it was time to drain the battery. Ren activated everything he could think of that was heavy on the power, continuing to tap away at the phone, ordering another coffee, then a croissant. At last, the phone flashed a warning that it needed charging. Ren got up, handed the phone to one of the waiters, then went to catch his e-bus.

He was on the CityConnect by the time he received a push notification from the local news site. Dotty’s had been hacked. For over half an hour, patrons had been redirected from the master catalogue. The tweaks to the search algorithms had been subtle, taking time to notice, funnelling customers away from the big business and towards the online portals of local businesses. Before Dotty’s staff realised what had occurred, hundreds of items had been ordered from independent sellers for home delivery, rather than bought from Dotty’s sponsors for pick up.

The news had reached out to some of the beneficiaries, but so far no one had claimed responsibility. Business owners were professing ignorance of the entire thing, though Dotty’s corporate backers had promised to get to the bottom of things.

Ren smiled. By now the memory wafer would have disintegrated from the little heat generated by charging the phone. But it’s work had been done, uploading Ren’s program to Dotty’s cloud. They wouldn’t get to the bottom of it. Ren was just a good Samaritan doing what he could. This wasn’t the first thing, wouldn’t be the last. He wouldn’t let the high-street kill the true independents.