With the help of our talented artists, Kat’s game characters looked so lifelike, a far departure from her zoo games, where the romping animals were doe-eyed and cartoony. Not that I’d seen a ton of strippers and apocalyptic female warriors in real life, but the character depictions looked amazingly realistic. The men looked heroic. The women looked athletic, but not like she-beasts.
“Everything you touch is magic,” I said to Kat. “Your work is stunning.”
“This was all possible because of you.” She smiled, which wasn’t something that happened often. “You had one hell of a steep learning curve, but honestly, you’re the best producer I’ve ever worked with at this company.”
Everyone around the table nodded and smiled. The Xins held up their doughnuts and saluted me.
“And I have the best team,” I said, choking up. It was true, I’d never had the pleasure of working with such passionate and creative people in my life. Even though my job had a lot of ups and downs, seeing the impact I had on my team (and they had on me) made me want to stick around to finish what I started.
While we chattered about the good work we’d been doing, my phone vibrated a few times with several text messages from unknown senders.
How do I say this in the most non-misogynistic way possible? Fuck you, bitch!
Slut bitch whore slut slut slut sluttttttt
And then this one: You dumb cronut. I hope you die.
Quickly followed by: *Cunt. Autocorrect.
I shot a panicked look across the room. How did this loser, or group of losers, find me? I googled my ten-digit number and discovered that UltimateDDay had fucking doxed me: my cell number, apartment building address, and work location had been posted online for the world to see. He’d even added a link to a Google Maps location of the office.
I scrolled through more posts and came across a friend of UltimateDDay who declared he’d be visiting me later that night, through my window. He posted a street-view picture of my apartment building. Another troll suggested that someone get me “swatted” (which I had to look up because I had no idea what that was), and it turned out he tried to get someone to call the police to send a SWAT team to my apartment building.
What the holy fuck.
There were pages and pages of sickening posts from the last few hours. My chest constricted, like a larger, stronger person had bear-hugged me and refused to let go. With each inhale it became harder and harder to take in oxygen.
My sobs caught me off guard, like I was having an out-of-body experience. Why would someone target me like this? Why did I even matter to anyone? Kat jumped out of her chair and grabbed my shoulders. She looked me in the eyes. “Okay, Melody. Just breathe slowly. Inhale. Exhale.”
I did as she instructed and showed her my phone. “My god, Melody, we’re leaving and going to the police. NOW.”
Before we left the building she wrapped my scarf around my head and made me wear some neon-pink promotional sunglasses I’d picked up from GameCon. If the goal was to not draw attention to myself, we had failed.
We sped through the workstation maze. “Keep your head down, Melody. We don’t know who the mole is.” Kat guided me past the kitchen, copy room, and mailroom. We went down seven flights of stairs and ended up at the parking garage. I had no idea that back stairwell existed.
She started the ignition to her Subaru. “That used to be my escape route when I needed to make pediatrician appointments, or pump in my car. You’ll understand one day if you have kids.”
As we hightailed it to the police station, Jane messaged me.
I’m freaking the fuck out. My wedding planner just quit! She said I stressed her out. I can’t believe she’d say that to me. It’s my wedding! Of course I’m stressed! Can you meet today, I need to vent. I can stop by your office if you’re around. And just emailed you what I’d like you to do for my bachelorette party.
And one from my mom: You dating anyone yet? Your umma and appa are old. We want grandchilds.
And another from Jane, ten minutes later: Hey, I just stopped by your office. The receptionist (Kendra?) said you went to the POLICE?! Holy shit, this must be bad! Don’t worry about the bachelorette party email, but just note that we should be RSVPing places by this weekend <3
Kat dropped me off in front of the precinct while she found parking. I walked in through the door and didn’t expect to see a modern-looking, IKEA-esque office interior. Maybe I’d watched too many crime shows on television, but I sort of envisioned a front desk behind bulletproof glass, and then jail cells somewhere in the back, with a bunch of imprisoned people clamoring for their lawyers or their one phone call. This place didn’t look like that. Instead, this police station looked like it might have a legit Starbucks coffee machine.
The officer sitting in the front barely looked up at me. “Um, hi? I wanted to speak to someone about a harassment complaint.”
“Name?” she asked with a yawn not politely covered by her hand. I stared at her badge. Officer Greeley.
“Sure, it’s Melody Jae-Eun Joo.”
Officer Greeley’s downturned mouth accentuated her frown lines. “Melanie Choo? C-H-O-O?”
I sighed. “Melody J-O-O.”
She henpecked the keys with her two index fingers. “It says here that someone has already filed a harassment complaint on your behalf. A lawyer from Seventeen Studios. This investigation opened a few weeks ago. If you show me your ID I can print this out for you.”
She printed out over fifty pages and handed me the stack. Kat came up to me, panting hard. “I had to park a long way down. And I thought it would be a good idea to run back here. I’m sweaty. Sorry.”
She looked over my shoulder and we skimmed the police report document together. A few sections stood out to me:
BlueBaller42 interview: Traced IP address. BB42 admitted he sent threatening emails to the work email address listed on BetaGank website but he does not actually own a sawed-off shotgun. Jamie Frazier (alias BlueBaller42) understood it was a federal crime to send messages like these and will never do it again.
SamuraiStud: Active tweeterer (sp?). Made death threats from his grandma’s IP address. Just turned 18, and out of our local jurisdiction.
NoHmburgrH8rs: Heard about victim on BetaGank and 4chan. Could not recall specific comment he made about killing anyone named “Melody” but believed his comments were jokes. The post has since been deleted.
Dozens of these threat investigations were declared dead ends, inconclusive, or ended with a light slap on the wrist. None had moved forward as prosecutable due to a lack of concrete evidence. Numb and light-headed, I sat down and squeezed my eyes shut. The Seattle Police brought in the WBIS (Washington Bureau of Investigation Services) to investigate some of the more large-scale threats (like multiple bomb threats targeting Seventeen Studios, which employees didn’t know about), but the WBIS dismissed them as hoaxes, and no serious effort went into hunting down and punishing the culprits.
With eyes still closed, I said calmly, “This report only covers a handful of the threats I received. What about the hundreds of others?”
Officer Greeley answered, “Miss, we don’t have a large team here. It’s still an ongoing investigation.” My eyes shot open and my steady breaths quickened.
Kat raised her voice. “Look, you’ve only researched a dozen of these and it took over two months. At this rate she’ll be retired by the time you finish this investigation.”
I exploded. “Or I’ll be blown to smithereens tomorrow by someone who actually has a sawed-off shotgun at his disposal and knows how to use it!”
Officer Greeley continued to look at us with an uninterested gaze, as if we had offered her a ho-hum Salisbury steak microwave dinner and weren’t talking about saving my goddamned life. She’d been with the department for twenty-three years, according to the framed certificate above her head. She had several pictures of her family on her wall and appeared to have grown children. She didn’t seem the type to know anything about gaming or have a clue what an IP address was.
I pleaded, “If you look through these threats, you’ll see that this could happen to anyone.” I glanced again at her picture frames. “You have daughters. Granddaughters. Please help me.”
Candace texted while I stood by Officer Greeley’s desk. Jane told me what’s going on. I know people who can help.
Kat whispered, “Let’s go.” I clenched the police report to my chest and followed Kat out the door.
Once we were outside, she turned to me. “I didn’t realize how unhelpful the police would be at handling your situation. I’m so sorry.”
Driving back to the office with Kat, I noticed Candace called a few times and left voice mails. Worried that something was wrong with the baby, I called her back immediately. She picked up on the first ring. “Oh good, it’s you. I have a group of . . . um . . . friends . . . that have agreed to help you.”
My whole body tensed. “What kind of friends are we talking about?”
“Well, you know in my early PR days I worked at a firm who handled celebrity clients. I met some interesting people along the way. These friends of mine are a group of um . . . female renegade investigators. They’re wanted by the government because they’re straight-up hackers. Well, they are more like social justice avengers really. They’ve been called hacktivists in the media and they like that term. Their sole mission is to right the world of unjust things, and, well, this problem of yours is exactly the kind of thing they take an interest in.”