001
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
I take a ragged breath through burning lungs, and I think about how much time I’ve got left.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
I hope this works.
Ding.
Ding.
I hope we didn’t all die in vain.
Ding.
Not long now.
Ding.
It all started with that sound. Ding. Some years ago, my phone “dinged” at me and told me I had an e-mail titled “Engaging Job Opportunity! Open Now!”
You know the type: post your resume online, and you’ll get one of these eventually. They all sound the same: some company you’ve never heard of has gotten a copy of your resume from some place you don’t remember posting it, and they’re offering you an absurd amount of money for practically no work, if you’ll only respond back to them. They’re all scams, despicable ploys designed to separate people from their money at a time when they’re at their most vulnerable.
You get enough people saying “We’ll call you if you’re selected” to your face while never looking you in the eye or bothering to pretend like they see you as an actual person with genuine emotions, and pretty soon you’ll jump at any opportunity that says they’re interested in you. You get enough e-mails that begin with “We regret to inform you...” and out of sheer plain desperation you’ll follow through on one that says, “We’ll hire you if you just submit to this background check that costs $275 for some weird reason or whatever, who cares, don’t think about it, just give us the money and the job’s yours.”
And then they have you. You, and the money you can’t afford to lose if you want to keep the lights on and have a roof over your head.
But not me. Me? I was working on completing my doctorate when I heard that fateful little ding. I had heard of scams like this before, which was the first red flag. The second red flag is that I had never posted a resume anywhere because I had never had a job before. I went straight from high school into college, and straight from undergrad to graduate and finally doctorate. Whoever sent that message was barking up the wrong tree.
So I shrugged my shoulders, rolled my eyes, swiped left to delete, and didn’t think twice about it. I kept working on my research and would have spent the entire night doing so... but then, five seconds later, I hear it again.
Ding.
Confused, I picked up my phone again. And there it was:
“We’ve heard good things about you! We pay weekly! Great benefits! OPEN NOW!”
And just as quickly as before: eyeroll, sigh of annoyance, swipe left, phone down, head back in textbook.
Ding.
“Jesus,” I remember saying to myself. I picked up my phone, completely done with this entire situation and ready to turn it on Silent, when I read the message on my screen:
“Open the Damn E-mail, Jonathan.”
And my exasperated annoyance turned into intrigued confusion. What kind of employer sends a message like that? Against my better judgement, I opened the e-mail.
And my screen went black. And a logo I had never seen before flashed in front of my eyes. And then I saw... something. Years later I would recognize it as a weaponized memetic anomaly that, when viewed, induces sudden and severe cataplexy, the total loss of voluntary muscle control. The anomaly then affects the subject’s body by inducing compression of the jugular vein, significantly hindering blood return from the head and brain to the heart. This leads to unconsciousness and, depending on how long pressure is maintained on the jugular, total brain death.
I lost all ability to control my body, passed out, and easily could have died. Because I looked at a picture. Welcome to The SCP Foundation.
