InkTFtober: 3, Bait
A free prepaid visa for the first 100 visitors? What a fantastic deal, there’s no way that anyone in their right mind could pass up on that! He’d be able to go shopping and buy some nice things for himself.
These were the thoughts going through Hassan’s mind as he clicked on the link. It brought him to a page of flashing lights with some cheesy gifs saying “WINNER! WINNER!” and things like that, with a form to fill out. It looked pretty straightforward, it wanted his name, credit card number, and three numbers on the back. There was a statement below saying that they needed his info in order to redeem his prize. It made sense, so Hassan got up to get his wallet.
When the man was a few steps away from the computer, he heard his doorbell go off. His wallet could wait, he thought, making his way to the entrance and opening the door. His son, Mahmoud, stood at the entrance. Hassan was pleasantly surprised and brought his son in for a hug. “Mahmoud! What a surprise!” he exclaimed.
“Hi dad!” said Mahmoud, hugging his father and then letting himself in. “Was passing through the area after a work week on site and figured I’d drop by if you were around.” He took off his boots and placed them by the entrance.
Hassan brewed some coffee in the kitchen as the two sat down at the table and caught up. Mahmoud visited his father regularly, even moreso after Hassan’s wife had passed away, but he’d been very busy with work lately and hadn’t had as much time to drop in. The visit was nice as they talked about work, and Mahmoud’s relationship to his long-time girlfriend. Eventually, the two migrated into the living room, where Mahmoud spotted the bright flashing lights on his father’s computer.
“What in Allah’s name are you looking at?” Mahmoud asked, knowing something was off about the site.
Hassan got all excited. “Oh! This site said that I can win a free visa card if I acted fast! I got in, and now they just want my details so that they can deliver it!”
Mahmoud frowned. “You’re falling for classic bait, dad. That’s like the Nigerian Prince of internet scams. They’re just going to take money from your card.”
Hassan looked confused. “What? Why would they do that? There’s no reason to be so skeptical.”
Mahmoud grimaced hearing his dad make such a foolish comment. “There’s plenty of reason.” He said, quickly opening his phone up and looking up scams, handing the device to his father. Hassan read the screen: “Why phishing attacks are still common even nowadays” and scrolled through the article.
He rolled his eyes. “Son, you can’t believe everything you read on the internet.”
Mahmoud just kind of stared at him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying!” he exclaimed after a moment.
Hassan, feeling like he wouldn’t win this battle, closed out the window to appease his son. There was no reason to fight during his visit, and he could probably reopen it later and fill out the form then. “There, are you happy now?” he asked, somewhat sarcastically.
“Yes, dad. I just don’t want to see you fall victim to a scam.” Replied Mahmoud. Despite Hassan feeling like he knew better, he did appreciate that his son at least thought he was looking out for him. He steered the conversation topic elsewhere and the rest of the visit was pleasant. Soon enough Mahmoud was putting his boots back on and heading back to his place for the weekend.
Hassan got right back to his computer after his son left. He loved his son dearly, but was frustrated sometimes at his know-it-all tendencies. His homepage launched, some off-brand news site, and he saw similar ads as before. The text was different for this one though, but if Hassan was being honest this sounded much more appealing:
“WIN A LIFE-CHANGING TRIP, JUST CLICK ON THIS LINK BELOW! ACT NOW!”
Completely ignoring his son’s warnings about such links, Hassan clicked the link, seeing the same info boxes that he almost filled out earlier. Having his information at the ready this time, he put in his details and clicked the okay button, ready to receive his prize. Instead, he was met with more boxes.
“Hold up, we’re almost ready! We need additional verification to match your profile so that you’re eligible for your LIFE-CHANGING TRIP!” The page was flashy and colorful, just like before, but Hassan was a little annoyed. But, the reward did seem so promising, so he put in his information. Full name: Hassan Saddam. Age: 52. He put in his address and ZIP Code, and telephone number, a complete set of information, and pressed the OK button.
The mouse of the computer turned into the loading wheel very briefly, and the page refreshed with a red error bar across the top: “Error: No User Exists In Our Database Matching Provided Information”
Hassan furrowed his brow, what was that supposed to mean? He had typed up everything correctly. The computer quickly changed the error message though as the color changed into a deep yellow: “Making Corrections to Profile for Prize Eligibility”. Hassan’s profile was suddenly reopened, but the strangest addition was made to it, a fullbody render of him with no clothing on.
Hassan was, needless to say, alarmed at seeing his likeness projected onto the monitor. He hated to admit it now, but maybe his son was right. His computer was spying on him! Thankfully, there was an immediate out to such a situation, as Hassan got up from his chair and bent under the desk, grabbing the power cord and pulling it out of the socket.
As the cord was removed from the wall, Hassan saw a spark of light come from the prong and realized immediately that he was going to regret his actions just a second too late to stop them. He pulled the cord out and the electricity from the cord travelled up his body, but to his shock (perhaps literally) he didn’t find that it hurt, but rather made him feel fuzzy and tingly. He breathed a sigh of relief as he got back up and sat down in his chair, only to have his panic come back but worse.
The computer model was still there, showing Hassan’s body in its naked glory. A green message popped up on the screen: “YOUR PROFILE HAS BEEN VERIFIED! YOUR LIFE CHANGING TRIP WILL COMMENCE IMMEDIATELY!”
Hassan tried to exit out of the window, but instead his mouse just wavered around the screen and instead he found himself clicking on the 3D model of himself. The cursor showed the loading wheel again, as an error popped up: “WARNING: USER NOT FOUND. UPDATING RENDER.”
Hassan broke into a sweat as the computer screen froze. Maybe this meant it would be the end of it, he reasoned, deciding to step away. He couldn’t call his son, who was definitely still driving right now. He decided to step away and go back to the kitchen, getting his mind off of things. He went over to his coffeemaker and poured himself another mug to try and relax.
He sat down and sipped at the drink, and almost immediately spit it out. He forced himself to swallow the vile liquid, but decided he wouldn’t be drinking any of the rest. It tasted so horrifically bitter, which didn’t taste right. Heading over to the sink, he dumped his mug out. He cursed in his mind, thinking about how the world seemed to be out to get him today. With no choice, he headed back to the computer and sat down. Maybe he could try to work this out.
He cracked his knuckles and faced his screen, and furrowed his brow looking at it. The entire thing was in Arabic! Though he understood the language, he barely had a chance to use it after moving out west many years ago before his son was born. There were also many more boxes than before, including small details he hadn’t even thought to consider. Maybe they were sliders for the 3D render? He clicked on one labelled “طول القامة”, for height, but wasn’t actually able to enter or change the number in the box.
As Hassan read through the page, he realized how invasive some of the details were. It described nearly every aspect of his body, down to things like belly fat and penis size. He didn’t seem as bothered by it as before though, as he stared at the screen reading his measurements. He was distracted by scrolling the page, not noticing his 3D render growing taller and gaining weight. Fittingly, Hassan was interrupted by a gurgle coming from his stomach and sudden hunger pangs.
He got up and walked to the kitchen again, opening up the fridge. It was fully stocked with lots of meats and pre-cooked meals. Hassan was ravenously hungry and took out a large plate of lamb chops, rice, and vegetables: carrot, onion, and eggplant. He took it to the microwave and heated it and then took it back to the computer, and sat down, eating as he stared at the screen.
He took a moment to inspect the 3D render. It looked... larger than before, but Hassan couldn’t place why it did, it was clearly him reflected in the page. He was fairly muscular, but his gut clearly indicated that he liked to eat well too. A box described, in Arabic, his hobbies: “Powerlifting, Eating 4000 Calories Daily”. Hassan wondered if his appearance was so obvious that he was into lifting and ate so much (it was practically a requirement) just from his image, as he had never typed that in.
The computer interrupted him with another popup: “STARTING RELOCATION PROCESS, DO NOT TRAVEL FAR FROM LOCATION”. Hassan squinted as he looked at the image. He understood English, but it wasn’t the easiest language to read. The letters also seemed a bit fuzzy? Hassan knew something was off, as he headed to his bedroom for a moment. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he needed something there.
He passed through the hall of his house, and noticed that they seemed barebones. He thought he’d remembered having paintings or photographs of his kids or something up in there, but that sounded foolish. The walls were a pristine white, the only thing on it a clock. He went into his bedroom and approached his nightstand, putting on a pair of glasses which restored his vision to what it was before.
As he was heading back to the computer, he caught his reflection. He looked huge, and he meant that as a compliment. His muscles were straining his clothes, it being very visible that what he was wearing was too tight. He decided to have a brief vanity moment as he took a second to strike a pose. As he did, his shirt ripped apart and he heard a rip on his pants. He cursed without a second thought, “اللعنة عليك”, as he took his pants off and picked up the remains of the shredded clothing on the floor, holding the scraps in his arms as he walked back to the computer.
He read the screen with improved vision from his eyeglasses, looking at his stats. There was a brief summary at the top. “Hassan Saddam. This 51-year-old Arabic bodybuilder is proud of his heritage and his body.” He let out a mighty laugh, noting how accurate the program was. He couldn’t quite remember what the program was for, again, but it didn’t seem to matter. He took a second look, entertained by the accuracy. “Hassan Saddam. This 51-year-old Arabic bodybuilder is proud of his heritage and his hirsute body.”
Hassan had already dropped the clothing beneath his chair and had one of his free hands reach over and scratch his chest. As he scratched between his enormous pecs, a thick pelt of grey, curly hair started making its debut on his body. It quickly took over much of his skin, leaving no part of his torso or back smooth. The wave of hair growth reached his shoulders and went down his arms, and simultaneously travelled down his legs, not neglecting his ass or pubic hair. Hassan twirled some of the hair in his chest between his fingers. He loved being a hairy man. It made him look masculine, powerful. He knew that looking powerful was important for some reason, but couldn’t remember exactly why.
Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening. He heard a shout. “Hey dad, I forgot something important here and I’m here to pick it up!” The voice gradually approached him until he saw a man walk through the living room. It was Mahmoud, and he was shocked to see his father sitting there in his underwear on the computer. "father. Put on some clothes.” He said.
Hassan didn’t like hearing that. He wasn’t the type of man to be bossed around or take anyone’s orders. He turned around to face Mahmoud, and stood up, his height towering over his son even from across the room. “Have you forgotten who’s in charge here?” he asked in Arabic, imposingly. Despite Hassan refusing to comply with the requests of others, the scraps of clothing on the floor had a mind of their own as they started whirling around him from the bottom up. His pants started reforming over his body to accommodate his new size, and seemed blacker than before, and had a nice silk lining on the inside.
The scraps of fabric that were previously his shirt unravelled in the air, not that Hassan or Mahmoud could see them, and started weaving directly over Hassan’s body, forming a dress shirt and a suit jacket. His button up shirt wasn’t done up all the way, a thick tuft of chest hair sticking out through the top. After the clothing had settled, he looked very dapper, yet still very imposing. He tapped his foot on the ground, inside a pair of nice wing-tips which had been recently buffed and shined, waiting for Mahmoud to respond.
Mahmoud was confused. Just what was going on? He couldn’t quite remember. He had come here and made some request of his father? Or had his father made the request. He couldn’t place a finger on it, so he simply replied, in Arabic of course, “Yes sir.” and exited the living room, back to the hallways of the building.
Hassan sighed. The youth were quite disrespectful these days, thinking they knew better than their elders. Mohammad, or whatever his name was, was a bright kid, but had a lot of work to do to get him to a place like Hassan’s. Hassan turned back to his computer, reading the screen again. “Hassan Saddam. This wealthy 51-year-old Arabic bodybuilder and oil tycoon is proud of his heritage and his hirsute body.”
Wealthy. It was only natural, thought Hassan. He had made quite the living here, working through the ranks of businessmen until he found himself at the head of a rising oil company many years ago. Now he was their CEO, and he was making quite a luxurious sum of money for himself. It meant long hours at work, but he was relatively happy doing it, and could never complain about the money.
He thought of work, wondering where the hell that boy was with his coffee. Almost on thought command, Mahmoud entered the room with a tray and a fancy dish of coffee sitting atop it. He looked utterly confused, and was dressed a little differently, but he had completed the task. Hassan took the coffee without reservation and took a sip. Bitter and strong, just as he liked it. He said to Mahmoud in Arabic, “I believe it is a bit of a waste for an intern such as yourself to be doting on me, but your coffeemaking skills are sublime. I hope you do not find it insulting, Mohammad.”
“Mahmoud, sir.” replied the intern. “And of course not. It’s an honor to even have the opportunity to work here under the guidance of such a large company.” His face was a bit twisted, like he didn’t quite believe what he was saying.
Hassan smirked. “I do appreciate flattery, young Mahmoud. Keep that up and you’ll find yourself at the executive’s table at no time!” Breaking into a hearty laugh, Mahmoud joined in a bit uncomfortably. After Hassan calmed down, he asked a question. “What do you have left to do today?” It was in his best interest to know the interns, more or less, so he could maintain an approachable atmosphere. It was good publicity.
“I am almost finished with my spreadsheets, and then will be going home to my wife and kids. They are of that age where they are very needy.”
“Ah, I would say I understand, but I don’t have children of my own.” Said Hassan. It rolled off the tongue strangely. Was that right? It had to be right. “But my heart goes out for you, Mahmoud.”
“Mohammad.” The intern corrected. “Mohammad Awad.”
“Ah, quite right Mohammad.” Said Hassan. “Have an excellent evening, with peace.”
The sharply dressed intern, Mohammad, nodded respectfully and left Hassan’s office, leaving the CEO alone in the room. He looked around his office. It was rather homely, which made sense given his commitments to work. He thought about Mohammad for a second, wondering what it would be like to have a wife and children. He waved the thoughts away though. He was too busy. Too busy, and perhaps too old to be taking care of little ones at this age.
His computer suddenly made a beeping noise. “Are you still there, Hassan?” read the screen in Arabic. Hassan was confused seeing the message. What had gotten onto his computer? It looked like some kind of map of the United Arab Emirates, with a flashing message on top, saying “WIN A LIFE-CHANGING TRIP!”. Why would he have to take a trip to somewhere he already lived? Especially with as much money as he had, he didn’t need to win any types of prizes.
Hassan exited out of the ad. He knew those things just carried viruses anyway. He scoffed. A life changing trip, as if. Maybe to court for a fraud case, he thought. He turned back to his computer and opened up his emails. The giant oil tycoon had work to do before his nightly workout regime.