Aling Rosa’s day always ended the same way. After washing the last pandesal tray and counting the coins from her sari-sari store, she would sink into her plastic chair, pull out her cracked Android phone, and scroll through Facebook.

"Likes?" Mang Lito laughed, but it was a sad laugh. "Son, do you know what happened to Marites, the woman who sells fish balls ? She lost her life savings because she clicked your link. She thought it was just for likes. Now, her pamasahe (fare money) is gone."

Kenji’s face went pale. He rushed to his laptop. His "Auto Liker" server had been breached. Because he had built it cheaply, without security protocols, a black-hat hacker from Eastern Europe had slipped a keylogger into the script.

It wasn't just her. The entire Pure Pinoy group was melting down.

Rosa slapped the table. Not Kenji—the table. "I told you! Susmaryosep! Real likes come from real kapitbahay (neighbors)! You can’t automate pakikisama ( camaraderie)!"

Kenji had accidentally opened a bangketa (sidewalk) for cyber-criminals to walk right into the homes of a million Filipinos.

Every time someone used the "Purong Pinoy Auto Liker," they weren't just getting fake likes. They were giving the hacker the keys to their digital house.

Rosa looked at Kenji. Kenji looked at the floor. The plastic chair creaked.