Be careful when you apply for a job online. Do everything you can to verify it is really the company they claim to be. And always remember anything sounding too good to be true most definitely is.
When the pandemic hit, I started working from home, like many others. The transition of moving my company’s daily meetings and progress reports to Skype and Slack communication was a bumpy one, but we all managed to work out the kinks and carry on with our duties. Unfortunately, a few people were let go due to the company downsizing and I was one of them. I enjoyed many a lazy free day binging shows, playing video games and day drinking. It felt good to let my inner slovenly slacker live his best life, but bills don’t pay themselves.
The hunt began. I took to the typical online platforms for freelance and fulltime openings, but I was stunned by the slim pickings. Worry grew when I had no luck even landing an interview; there was just nothing out there. A few friends suggested Upwork and similar freelancing sites I was unfamiliar with, so I figured I’d give it a whirl. I was actually happy to see quite a few promising job listings, and I began to apply to practically everything within my skill set and pay range requirements.
There were a few back and forths, but the most promising of all was a cushy little work-from-home job, contracted by a major television network. I’m not saying who, as the company is in no way responsible. Just be aware that even if you recognize the company, it might not actually be them you are dealing with. At any rate, I was elated. 401k, 3 weeks vacation to start, dental and vision, and an hourly rate above my previous position. Nothing like a pay increase. I eagerly applied, linking my resume and work samples; and then waited.
About a day later, I received a request for a Skype interview. I frantically scoured my apartment for my cleanest button-down shirt and combed my hair. I brushed my teeth in case some random food particle might sway them one way or the other. My leg bounced in anticipation as I adjusted my webcam and then realized my messy room would be visible. After yet another half hour of tidying up, I had only a few seconds to breathe before joining the Skype meeting.
A well-dressed, smiling man in his forties with thin-rimmed glasses introduced himself:
“Hey there, thanks for taking the time to chat.” He smiled.
“My pleasure, thank you,” I replied. I mentioned them by name. It was, in fact, the actual name of a recruiter for said entertainment network, but again, I’m not listing that, as the person being impersonated had no part in this.
I’ll spare the details of the general conversation, but it was very typical; questions and answers about process, working with a team and the sorts of projects to be handled. They said they used Slack to send updates with the other developers—something I was familiar with —and I was thrilled to have all the right answers. It was as legitimate of a process as you could get, honestly. They asked for my previous employer’s contacts and references, standard as per usual; all the normal stuff. Nothing about my social security number, nothing shady. Just the standard information any employer would ask for.
“Thank you for your time, and I’ll be in touch after discussion with our team” he smiled, and with that, he ended the call.
I was finished, and I felt confident I answered each question as best as possible, and went about applying to other jobs. After a few hours, I received an email with a job offer, and I stood up from my chair and let out an exalted “YES!” The search was finally over.
I perused the offer, and it was as legitimate as any I’d ever seen, watermarked accordingly; the standard W-2 forms, etc. I eagerly filled it out, digitally signed, and sent it off. I boasted to my friends and received the congratulations and regained the pep I’d been missing so dearly. I was to start after the upcoming weekend so I had a couple of days to celebrate.
When Monday’s alarm woke me up, I popped up like bread from the toaster. I excitedly did my morning maintenance routine and sat down at my desk, ready to enter a new chapter in my career. I turned on my laptop and opened my inbox to see a slew of new messages. Dozens, from friends, family, previous employers, ex-lovers, old college roommates. All had disturbing titles, and each one twisted my insides to the point I had to fight from falling out of my chair.
“You are fucking DEAD when I see you,” one read. “I thought I knew you,” read another. I even had one from my landlord titled “TERMINATION OF LEASE.”
My heart pounded and my hands shook as I clicked through each email, trying to understand what the actual fuck was going on.
“Why would you share those photos and say that, you piece of shit?” one from an ex sent; an ex I hadn’t seen or talked to in years. I had absolutely no photos of us on any device whatsoever, so I was at a loss as to what it could all mean. I frantically replied to that one with “I’m so scared and confused, what photos?” and continued reading the various emails from nearly everybody I’d interacted with for the past decade.
Tears flowed down my face as I searched each hostile email for clues. Some had screenshots of me, the current me, as I’d appeared on my own screen during that Skype interview. I began to understand what had taken place.
For whatever nefarious reason, the people who’d initiated that fake interview were trying to systematically destroy my life. Not destroy, obliterate. I sobbed uncontrollably, reading through tear-blurred eyes at the reaction of once-dear friends. They referred to my YouTube page; one I had previously registered but never actually uploaded to.
And there they were. Ten videos, all labeled “I have to get this off my chest,” I clicked the first, attempting to swallow a baseball sized lump in my throat that would not budge. I then watched in horror.
I was on the screen, real as any deepfake I’d ever seen, spewing the foulest, most hate-filled rants I had ever heard. I was spitting vitriol about being spurned by exes or fucked over by previous employers. In each video, I held up explicit, pornographic photographs I’d never seen and loathingly insulted people I dearly revered. My heart shattered, and I had to turn it off. I couldn’t handle what I was seeing. It was SO. FUCKING. REAL. The amount of time and effort that had to have gone into this methodical character assasination was top-tier. I couldn’t fathom how they were able to do it. I was just so far more concerned with why?
They hadn’t threatened me with releasing any compromising details, yet they clearly had somehow gained access to all of my personal accounts. The on-screen mimic of myself mentioned and even screenshotted VERY personal messages and emails. They somehow learned about personal crises I’d helped my friends through and exposed them in a staggeringly sinister fashion. They painted me as a fucking monster.
I hurriedly sent a mass email explaining I was being targeted for some horrific scheme, and explained that I had no idea how they did it so convincingly. I pleaded for people to know it was not me, and that I was the victim of some awful attack, but I’d seen a bit of those videos: They were so damned real, I nearly convinced myself I’d gone mad, and had some blackout or absolute lapse in sanity, but that on-screen version of me had intricate material on people that I had never seen. I didn’t have the stomach to watch anymore. I didn’t want to know whatever compromising or personal information it was using to paint me as a monster. I just knew one thing as I sent emails attempting to plead my innocence.
Nobody was going to believe me. My life was over. And why? The story, at least in my mind, ended there. My life was destroyed. My network of friends, family and acquaintances were gone. My face was smeared with snot and tears as I curled into a ball and rocked back and forth. Suicide seemed like the only solution. One final way of apologizing for all the horrific damage being perpetrated by my own likeness. I just wanted to know why.
I sat shivering in my shower, my knees clenched tightly to my chest when I heard the knock on my door. I imagined it was someone eager to beat the living shit out of me, but something about the knock seemed to harbor no hostility. Still, I couldn’t budge. I couldn’t speak. I was paralyzed with the rawest and most absolute dread I’d ever thought imaginable. I heard a faint rustling sound, and when I was finally able to swivel my eyes in the door’s direction, I saw that an envelope had been slipped under the door. A crimson envelope. I stared at it as the intrigue of what might be within finally was enough to rouse me from my seated position.
The apartment was dark, and I realized it had been hours since I’d moved. I wanted to just sit there and starve, then rot until the angered landlord came to drag out my rigid corpse from the shower. I thought to myself, if people had known how absolutely destroyed I was, they might believe me in death. They might believe it hadn’t been me. But that envelope sat there and I sought out answers. Such a fool I was.
My joints creaked and my muscles struggled to move, but I eventually walked over and picked up the red envelope. On it was an emblem; some sigil bearing the likeness of a deer mid-bound. A ribbon streamed from its torso that was meant to represent blood. My quivering fingers struggled as I opened it to reveal a piece of high-quality paper folded in half. I unfolded it and read.
Dear Sir, Answer the telephone
Nothing else. I walked over to my phone, which had apparently been ringing and vibrating from message alerts for god knows how long. I ignored the all-caps hate spewed across the small screen and watched as a call came in from an unknown number. I reluctantly answered, and listened as a monotonal, computer generated woman’s voice began to speak.
“Congratulations, you’ve opened the letter, and the hunt is officially on. Who will claim the prize? That depends on them, but they will come, and you will be slain. That is inevitable. We can press every button we wish to make that happen. We’ve had a mother decapitate her valedictorian son. We’ve had a priest strangle his best friend. We are pressing these buttons until you are hunted and killed. And you will be killed. All we advise of you is that you not kill yourself. You may see that exit as a way out of this misery. That door will lead to the death of your loved ones. They will no longer love you, of course. They will wish you a suffering even hell will not provide based on the actions you will seem to be doing. But they will be brutally butchered. Every last one of them. There have been three hunts where the prey chose the cowardly way out and ended their own lives. Nearly a dozen of the people closest to them were slain, and they are now forever known as the person who orchestrated it.
Stakes have been placed. Wagers have been made. You are just a little pawn in this game we play. I myself have a number of millions to be made if my hunter is the one to carry it out, but it is against the rules to tell you which person from your life I bet on. That might skew the results. Such is life, right? And be well aware. If you try to off yourself in an accident of any sort we will know. Your nieces and nephews will be delimbed alive and fed their own tongues. Don’t bother trying to expose us; the tracks have been cleanly removed, even this one. Enjoy the hunt.”
And then they hung up. Be extremely careful when applying for jobs. And if this nightmare ever happens to you I am begging you:
Do not open that letter.