Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I was an Arms Dealer on the Dark Web...

Episode Date: March 5, 2021

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Talk to Noesley. Hey, everybody. Would you like to get access to an extra bonus episode every Saturday? If so, check out my Patreon page at patreon.com slash Dr. No Sleep, where I will be posting exclusive bonus episodes every Saturday, only available to my exclusive Dr. No Sleep Patreon supporters. That's Patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. For only $5 per month, you will get access to a total of four extra bonus episodes every month

on my Patreon page. You will also be directly helping support the creation, of new horror stories for future Doctor No Sleep episodes. Your support would mean so much to me since I am a small podcast with very minimal outside funding. Thank you so much for your consideration. And now back to the story. Spare me the lecture. I'm not a good person, nor am I deserving of any sort of forgiveness. I've done terrible things, or at least aided other people in committing unforgivable acts. This is my last message. And while I'm not asking for your damn sympathy, I'd like to explain my side of the story. Drugs are f***. You try them out once thinking they'd give you a great deal

of fun. Then you realize you enjoyed it a little too much to just never do them again. Then you promise yourself the next hit will be the last. And before you know it, your knee deep in debt to sketchy figures who'd happily remove your kneecaps if you missed a deadline. For me, I'd already accepted death, but they weren't about to let me off the hook that easy. Instead, they made me a deal. I'd sell weapons on the dark web, deal with the risks and administrative sides of things, and they'd forgive my debt. That was fine for me. The drugs had absolutely numbed the moral center of my brain. I was given the key to a storage facility alongside some passwords and other login information.

It was an easy enough task all in all. My only job would be to handle the purchases, pick up the weapons, and deliver them at a designated group. If I got arrested, it would still be better than death. such was the deal. Over the next few years of my less than legal service, I'd never see my debt collectors again. I would only stay in contact through a dark web chat service, getting brief and concise messages.

Job number 9382. Location, redacted, time 1243. I would confirm with a simple yes or no, and then I'd be given access to the chat with a potential customer who'd tell me exactly what they needed. Give me two number sevens and a number 12, they'd say. We never spoke about weapons. We just used the pre-agreed-upon codes.

It would make it easier should either side get caught by the police. Time and place works, I'd ask. Yeah, see you there. I wouldn't actually ever see them. I'd go to the designated area, pick up the cache which was hidden somewhere inconspicuous, and then drop the bag off and leave. The less we knew about each other, the better.

During the process, I managed to stay away from drugs. Not that I had the money to buy them anyway, but if I wanted to live, I had to keep clean. I even met a girl, dated her, fell in love, got married. Five years together as I secretly dealt weapons to strangers online. I wasn't proud of myself, but I was content. As long as I just pretended I didn't have a choice, everything would be fine. At least, that was until my wife accidentally stumbled upon my secret work computer. I'm not sure how she found it, as I kept it in a locked safe behind a fake wall in the garage. She must have suspected something was up

in spite on me. There's really no other reasonable cause of events that could have led her there. It was encrypted, sure. There was no way she could possibly figure out what the laptop was used for. But she could still come up with plenty of horrible scenarios. Cheating, gambling, double life.

I wasn't in the clear. There was nothing I could do to protect myself. I couldn't come up with a believable excuse off hand. So she decided to stay at her mother's place until I came clean about whatever I was doing. I decided then and there that I'd quit my job. I'd been on it for years, which meant my debt had been long since paid off.

So after getting well into a bottle of whiskey, I decided to open up the computer and remove any sign of my part in the arms dealing. Of course, I could only get rid of my own part, maybe take down something from the site as well as gather information for when I inevitably was going to get arrested. But it was better than the life I was currently living. But, as I went to the website, I got a message that strongly deviated from the norm.

Please respond, Liam. They'd used my name, something that hadn't ever happened before, nor should it have. What the hell are you doing? Don't use that name, I ordered back at the stranger. Look, I'm trying to help you, but you have to listen. Help me? You assholes got me into this. No, no, no, you don't understand. I'm like you. forced to sell weapons and drugs online to function as a scapegoat for the people in charge. But you don't understand. They lied to you.

What do you mean? I asked. The buyers aren't random people. They're selling weapons to professionals, bounty hunters, assassins, crime syndicates, he replied. The details worried me. But the fact that slightly worse people had gotten the weapons that I previously expected wasn't much of a concern at that point. So what was all I could think to ask? They're organized for sake. They know everything about us.

The fact that everything was done so anonymously wasn't to protect us. It was to protect them. Shit. The customers know who I am? Yes. And they're about to close down shop, which means getting rid of everyone involved. They're coming for you.

Words failed me. As the undeniable truth I should have known the entire time hit me. They were never intending to release me from this job. They were planning to kill me. Why are you telling me this? Why didn't you just run? I asked. Because, Liam, it's not fun when the victims don't know they're being hunted. What? I'll see you soon.

I left the computer running and rushed for the garage. I still had a couple of undelivered packages that would contain some weapons. While I wasn't a marksman or anything, I knew how to handle a simple pistol. I grabbed a couple out of the bag alongside an ample amount of ammunition and headed for the basement with my computer and a phone. Once locked, I prepared to call the police. It rang once. Then twice. On the third ring, I heard another message pop up on the computer. Did you really think it would be that easy?

They managed to brick my phone, making it impossible to call for help. Why are you doing this? Can't let you keep running around with all that information. We've been watching you, Liam. Quitting was never an option. But you had to go on and get clean, find a life, get productive. We always knew it was just a matter of time before you decided you wanted out. But now, it's time to go. I got the weapons ready in my basement, considering whether to barricade myself in or to make a run for it. In the heat of the moment, I went for the latter option. I rushed for the door, leaving the laptop behind, but the door was locked from the outside. They were already in my house and probably knew I was in the basement.

Without hesitating, I pulled my gun and fired the door, desperately trying to hit whoever was on the other side. With that, another message popped up on the computer. That won't help you, Liam. In the wake of the excessively loud gunshots, a weird hissing sound could be heard, accompanied by an odd smell filling the air. It was gas, heavier than air, filling up the basement from the bottom. Thank you for your service, was the last message that ever came through. I knew I only had minutes at best, and without a feasible escape, I could do little more than to record the final thoughts I'd ever have on this earth. If you find this message, know that I'm sorry for the pain I've indirectly caused.

I wasn't a good person, but hopefully I can do better in death. I've hidden a USB stick with all the information I collected while working for the arms dealers. Find it. Stop them. Good luck. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moyance-moyerned for 15 minutes. We're like to dojo.

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