The Will to Resist

Congratulations! You've Been Selected for the Department of Absolutely Fucking Nobody™

Featuring Special Agent McBadgeface and Lady Ninety Grand

By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand

A Jerry’s Marginalia — by Department of Petty Affairs

There are days when you wake up, make yourself something to eat, check your messages, and discover that apparently you've become an extremely important person in the international criminal underworld.

I didn't apply for the position.

I didn't submit a résumé.

I didn't attend an interview.

And yet, somehow, two complete strangers decided that my phone number was the gateway to their respective theatrical productions.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another episode of:

THE INTERNET'S MOST UNWANTED CUSTOMER SERVICE EXPERIENCE™

Today's distinguished guests include a gentleman claiming to be on official business and a lady carrying a ninety-thousand-dollar sob story.

Neither brought refreshments.

Neither brought documentation worth trusting.

And neither was invited.

Chapter One: Special Agent McBadgeface Has Entered the Chat

Our first contestant arrived through WhatsApp.

For privacy reasons, we're calling him Special Agent McBadgeface.

A distinguished professional, apparently.

A man of mystery.

A gentleman who seems to have confused WhatsApp with the communications division of a federal law-enforcement agency.

His opening performance included the following general themes:

Well, isn't that special?

Apparently, I've been promoted from unemployed civilian to international person of interest without receiving so much as a fucking invitation.

And here I was thinking I needed to submit applications and attend interviews to get noticed.

McBadgeface, however, apparently has access to the world's most sophisticated investigative resources.

WhatsApp.

What a time to be alive.

Now, let's pause for a moment.

If somebody claims to represent law enforcement, that doesn't automatically make the claim legitimate.

A badge emoji, an intimidating message, and a declaration that somebody knows your address do not constitute proof of official authority.

And threatening somebody with vague statements about their personal information isn't exactly a convincing demonstration of professionalism.

I wasn't interested in playing twenty questions with an anonymous investigator.

So I reported the account.

Then I blocked it.

Case closed.

The Department of Petty Affairs has no further questions for the gentleman.

Chapter Two: Enter Lady Ninety Grand

Our second contestant chose Telegram.

We'll call her Lady Ninety Grand of Los Angeles.

Her introduction was considerably different.

No dramatic law-enforcement routine.

No mysterious claims of knowing my residence.

Instead, she introduced herself as Isabella, supposedly from Los Angeles.

She claimed she had found my number on a list of people who had reported being scammed.

And then came the centerpiece.

NINETY THOUSAND DOLLARS.

Apparently, she had lost $90,000.

Ninety.

Thousand.

Dollars.

Now, I'm not a financial adviser, a detective, or a licensed professional in the field of Internet Sob Story Management.

But I do understand what ninety thousand dollars represents.

Do you know what I could do with $90,000 sitting in my bank account?

I could breathe.

I could rebuild my savings.

I could handle bills without calculating every purchase like I'm conducting a NASA launch.

I could replace equipment, take care of responsibilities, and have some actual financial breathing room.

I might even be able to look at a grocery receipt without experiencing a brief spiritual crisis.

Ninety thousand dollars is not pocket change.

That's a substantial amount of money.

And apparently, this complete stranger wanted to introduce me to her tragic financial experience.

How touching.

How unexpected.

How very much like the beginning of a conversation I didn't remember signing up for.

Now, I don't know whether she actually lost that money.

I have no independent evidence supporting the story.

I don't know what she wanted from me, either.

Perhaps there was going to be a request for assistance.

Perhaps an investment opportunity.

Perhaps some other elaborate financial adventure.

But I wasn't going to hang around to discover the next chapter.

I submitted a report under Deceptive Funds.

And that was that.

Chapter Three: Two Different Costumes, One Very Tired Civilian

Let's compare our distinguished visitors.

Special Agent McBadgeface:

"WE HAVE YOUR DETAILS."

Lady Ninety Grand:

"I LOST $90,000."

One wants to make me nervous.

The other wants to establish an emotional connection.

One apparently has a badge somewhere in the imaginary filing cabinet.

The other has a financial tragedy that would make a bank manager sit down.

And me?

I'm sitting here wondering why my phone has apparently become the international headquarters for unsolicited bullshit.

I didn't request an investigation.

I didn't request a financial support group.

I didn't request an invitation to somebody else's personal tragedy.

I certainly didn't request a surprise audition for the role of Victim Number Whatever.

Yet here we are.

Chapter Four: The Department of Petty Affairs Conducts a Financial Assessment

At this point, Jerry called an emergency meeting.

Gerald the Cactus was present.

He was wearing his usual expression.

Which is to say, none.

Jerry: "What do we know about Special Agent McBadgeface?"

Investigator: "He claims to be on official duty."

Jerry: "Verified?"

Investigator: "No."

Jerry: "What do we know about Lady Ninety Grand?"

Investigator: "She claims to have lost $90,000."

Jerry: "Verified?"

Investigator: "No."

Jerry: "Have either of them established a legitimate reason to contact us?"

Investigator: "Not particularly."

Jerry: "Gerald?"

Gerald: "..."

Jerry: "Excellent. The cactus has identified the central problem."

The board reviewed the available evidence.

The findings were straightforward:

  1. Unsolicited contact.
  2. Unverified claims.
  3. Intimidation in one conversation.
  4. A substantial financial sob story in the other.
  5. No compelling reason to continue either conversation.

The board reached a unanimous decision.

STOP ENTERTAINING STRANGERS WHO ARRIVE WITH UNVERIFIED STORIES AND UNWANTED DRAMA.

Special Agent McBadgeface received a report and a block.

Lady Ninety Grand received a report.

Neither received access to my personal information, accounts, or finances.

Chapter Five: I Am Not Your Customer, Your Suspect, or Your ATM

Here's something I would like to make abundantly clear.

I am not obligated to investigate your identity.

I am not obligated to believe your story.

I am not obligated to reassure you.

I am not obligated to explain my financial situation.

And I am certainly not obligated to hand over personal information because somebody on the Internet has decided that I should.

If you're legitimate, you can establish that through legitimate means.

If you're an actual law-enforcement representative, there are proper ways to establish your authority.

If you've genuinely suffered a financial loss, I can sympathize without becoming personally involved in your financial affairs.

Compassion does not require access.

And skepticism is not a crime.

I can feel bad for somebody's alleged circumstances without inviting them into my life.

I can recognize that $90,000 is a tremendous amount of money without accepting a stranger's story as fact.

And I can tell somebody to leave me alone without submitting a twelve-page explanation to the Department of Internet Feelings.

Chapter Six: The Mimic Hunter Has Seen This Movie Before

Now, some of you may remember an earlier episode involving a certain individual we'll call Ms. Grubby Fingers.

That little adventure involved an unpaid $250 arrangement, an account created using my phone number, and subsequent requests for additional verification.

If you missed that particular circus, you can find the full report here:

You Didn't Pay Me, and Now You Want My Fucking Google Account?™

Different people.

Different platforms.

Different approaches.

I'm not claiming these incidents are connected.

I'm simply pointing out that I've had quite enough of strangers appearing out of nowhere with requests, promises, threats, and financial drama.

At some point, the Mimic Hunter stops inspecting the treasure chest and starts walking in the opposite direction.

Because I've learned something.

Desire is a feeling. Spending is a decision. And trust is something people earn.

You don't get to skip those steps because you have a convincing profile picture.

Chapter Seven: Ninety Thousand Dollars and a Little Perspective

I want to return to that $90,000 for a moment.

Not because I believe the story.

But because the amount itself illustrates something.

There are people trying to keep their lives together.

People looking for work.

People trying to pay bills.

People trying to rebuild after setbacks.

People who would genuinely benefit from having that kind of financial cushion.

And then somebody appears in a Telegram conversation claiming to have lost that amount.

What am I supposed to do with that information?

Send condolences?

Offer financial assistance?

Join a support group?

Open a spreadsheet?

Perhaps Gerald could organize a fundraiser.

No.

I'm not doing any of that.

If the story is true, I hope the person finds legitimate assistance.

If it isn't, I hope whoever is behind it finds a more productive hobby.

Either way, my bank account is not part of the conversation.

Final Chapter: The Gate Is Closed

I don't need to know what Special Agent McBadgeface wanted.

I don't need to know what Lady Ninety Grand intended to ask next.

I don't need to discover whether either of them had an elaborate plan.

I have enough information to make a decision about my own participation.

One used intimidation.

The other introduced an unverified financial tragedy.

Neither earned my trust.

And neither gets continued access to my attention.

I've already spent enough time dealing with questionable offers, account complications, and people who apparently believe that my personal information is a public utility.

I'm trying to find work.

I'm trying to rebuild.

I'm trying to get on with my life.

I don't need to become a supporting character in somebody else's poorly written Internet crime drama.

I am not available for unsolicited investigations, surprise financial tragedies, or mystery business opportunities.

The Mimic Hunter has retired from customer service.

The Paladin has closed the gate.

And Gerald?

Gerald has been instructed to remain where he is.

He is a cactus.

He understands boundaries.

Official Notice from the Department of Petty Affairs

Case File: DPA-2026-MIMIC-HUNTER-02

Subject: Unsolicited WhatsApp Authority Claims and Telegram Financial Tragedy.

Special Guest One: Special Agent McBadgeface.

Special Guest Two: Lady Ninety Grand of Los Angeles.

Claims verified: None.

Personal information provided: None.

Financial assistance authorized: Absolutely fucking not.

Disposition: Reported and disengaged.

Final ruling:

You may have a badge.

You may have a sob story.

You may even have ninety thousand reasons to contact somebody.

NONE OF THOSE THINGS ENTITLE YOU TO MY TRUST.

Gerald the Cactus has issued his final statement:

"Water me. Don't interrogate me."

The Department of Petty Affairs considers this legally sufficient.

They get my labor, not my spirit.

And strangers get neither my keys nor my bank account.

Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
https://theglitch.bearblog.dev/