This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/new-tube on 2024-11-26 00:04:23+00:00.
I stared blankly at my laptop screen, the glow illuminating my small studio apartment.
It was a typical Wednesday evening, and I was scrolling through my emails, deleting spam and responding to inquiries about freelance work. That’s when I saw it – an email from Pixar Recruitment.
My heart skipped a beat. Pixar. The studio behind Toy Story, Finding Nemo, and countless childhood memories. I had grown up idolizing their work, dreaming of joining their ranks.
"Dear Lucy,
We're thrilled to offer you an exclusive animation project. Your portfolio impressed our team, and we believe your style aligns perfectly with our upcoming production.
Advance payment: $10,000
Project duration: 6 months
Creative freedom: Yours
Reply to discuss details.
Best regards,
Emily (Pixar Recruitment)"
I re-read the email, pinching myself. Was this real? Scams were common in the industry, but this email seemed legitimate. The Pixar logo, watermarks – everything looked authentic. I checked the email address, ensuring it was genuine.
My mind raced with possibilities. Working with Pixar would launch my career, open doors to new opportunities, and validate years of hard work. I imagined myself walking through Pixar's halls, collaborating with legendary animators, and contributing to a project that would captivate audiences worldwide.
After minutes of hesitation, I typed out a response:
"Dear Emily,
I'm thrilled! Please share project details.
Best regards,
Lucy"
I hit send and waited anxiously for a response, my eyes fixed on the screen. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity.
Within hours, Emily replied:
"Project 'Eclipse' requires 20 animated shorts. Deadline: 6 months. Equipment and software will be provided. Advance payment will be wired upon signing the attached contract."
I downloaded the contract, scanning each page carefully. Everything seemed legit – contract terms, confidentiality agreements, and payment details. I printed, signed, and scanned the contract, emailing it back to Emily.
The next day, I received a notification from my bank. The $10,000 advance payment had hit my account.
A mix of excitement and skepticism swirled within me. Too good to be true? I pushed the doubts aside, focusing on the possibilities. Little did I know, my dream project would soon become a nightmare.
I waited eagerly for project details, my mind racing with possibilities. Emily’s response arrived promptly.
"Project 'Eclipse' requires 20 animated shorts," she wrote. "Deadline: 6 months. Equipment and software will be provided. Advance payment will be wired upon signing the attached contract."
I scrutinized the contract, searching for red flags. Everything seemed legitimate – contract terms, confidentiality agreements, and payment details. I printed, signed, and scanned the contract, emailing it back to Emily.
Days passed, and I received outdated equipment and corrupted software installation files. I contacted Emily, concerned.
"Technical issues," she replied. "Use your own software. Bill us." My gut screamed warning.
Emily requested additional payments for "consultant fees" and "project insurance."
" $2,000 to secure your position," she wrote.
I hesitated, sensing something amiss.
Why was Pixar outsourcing to an individual? Why couldn’t Emily provide clear project guidelines? I pushed aside my doubts, focusing on potential benefits.
Emily's responses became cryptic: "Trust your vision, Lucy. Eclipse demands innovation." "Software updates forthcoming. Keep working." Her messages fueled anxiety.
With dwindling finances and looming deadlines, I worked tirelessly. Doubts lingered. Was I blinded by ambition?
Emily’s emails ceased. Panic set in. I tried calling, emailing, but she vanished.
I contacted Pixar directly, only to discover Emily wasn’t affiliated with the studio. The advance payment was a loan shark's trap. My bank account was drained. Credit cards maxed.
Horror gripped me. What had I gotten myself into?
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. My dream project, a scam. My finances, in shambles. My reputation, tarnished.
Panic turned to despair as I scrolled through my bank statements. The advance payment, gone. Credit card debt, staggering. I faced financial ruin.
I contacted the authorities, filed reports, and joined online forums for scam victims. The police were skeptical, citing lack of evidence. Fellow victims shared similar stories, offering solidarity but little hope.
Determined to expose Emily, I dug deeper. Her email accounts, deleted. Social media profiles, fake. But one cryptic message remained:
"Lucy, you should've stayed creative."
My phone buzzed with a disturbing animation. Twisted, distorted creatures danced on screen. My artwork, manipulated into grotesque parodies. Emily's calling card.
Months passed, and I struggled to rebuild. Freelance work trickled in, barely covering expenses. My passion for animation waned, replaced by caution.
One day, I received an anonymous email:
"Lucy, sorry. You weren't the first. Won't be the last. Keep creating."