My Scam Story #15

A Romance/Pig Butchering Crypto Investment Scam Victim/Survivor’s Story

Survivor’s Origin: UK

This is the original victim’s story, enhanced by the SCARS Institute Editorial Team to improve comprehension, readability, and continuity.

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My Scam Story

My story is long and complicated, but here it goes:

It all started on a game called SongPop, which I’ve always loved playing. I had no idea that romance scammers were lurking there, but as I later discovered, the platform is unfortunately filled with them. One day, a seemingly pleasant and friendly man started chatting with me through the game’s messaging feature. Within just a few days, he suggested we move our conversations over to Google Chat for more convenience, and I agreed without suspicion.

Once on Google Chat, we started talking more regularly. He introduced himself as a shipping agent, originally from Germany, who had spent his childhood in Canada and was currently residing in Los Angeles. He spoke about being lonely and how much he enjoyed our chats. His backstory appeared detailed and convincing. Our conversations soon became more personal, and it wasn’t long before he expressed having romantic feelings for me. He spoke often about wanting to meet and visit me, which felt exciting and flattering.

However, he explained that before he could visit, he had to complete an important shipping contract—delivering oil from Turkey to New Zealand. At this point, I was slightly wary, but everything he mentioned checked out when I conducted my own research online. It never occurred to me that scammers could easily use Google to fabricate convincing stories. He also called me daily, and we had lengthy conversations, which made him seem even more genuine.

Despite his convincing personality, I noticed something peculiar during our calls. His accent didn’t align with his supposed background of having been raised in Canada. It was strong and unfamiliar, not North American at all. When I questioned him about it, he quickly became defensive, denying that he had any accent and urging me to drop the subject. Looking back, this was an early red flag, but at the time, I allowed myself to dismiss it. In hindsight, I see how he was already subtly manipulating me.

Shortly after arriving in Turkey for his supposed shipping contract, he began expressing minor troubles. He claimed he had miscalculated his expenses and was running out of money for basic necessities, particularly food. He asked if I could send him Bitcoin or gift cards to help him get by. Initially, I refused, sensing something off, but he continued to press gently. Then, when he developed a bad cough—seemingly genuine and concerning—I relented out of sympathy and sent him a modest £25 card.

From there, things escalated quickly. Gradually, he convinced me to send more money under the guise of buying food and essential supplies. I was uncomfortable with each request, yet his persistent charm and seemingly desperate situation tugged at my emotions. Eventually, he declared he had sufficient resources to set sail for New Zealand. I felt relieved, believing the difficulties would soon be behind us.

However, another crisis soon emerged. He informed me that the ship had been caught in a severe storm, sustaining serious damage. They ended up drifting near Australia, requiring urgent repairs at sea. This situation led to him requesting an extraordinary sum—£12,000 in Bitcoin—to pay for the emergency repairs. At this point, my suspicions heightened significantly. The story seemed increasingly improbable, yet his details remained disturbingly credible.

Determined to uncover the truth, I reached out to multiple official maritime and legal authorities to verify his claims. Every person I spoke to expressed near-certainty (about 99%) that this was a scam. But it was the remaining 1% that troubled me deeply. What if he truly was in distress? He continued contacting me regularly, reinforcing his predicament by expressing despair, hunger, cold, and limited access to fresh water. He insisted that he and his crew of twenty sailors had been abandoned by their employer and that I was their only lifeline.

Deeply conflicted and distressed, I reached out to the Maritime Mission, an organization that helps stranded seafarers. They, too, assessed the situation and echoed the warnings of previous experts—again stating they were 99% sure this was fraudulent. Yet the burden of possibly abandoning people genuinely in need weighed heavily on my conscience. It was difficult to separate fact from fiction when my emotions were so thoroughly entangled.

For twelve months, he expertly maintained this façade. He continued declaring profound love, promising a future together, and insisted that my financial help was the only thing keeping him and his crew alive. The emotional manipulation was intense and exhausting. Throughout this period, my gut told me he was lying, yet my heart couldn’t fully reject his pleas. The uncertainty tormented me daily.

In the end, I had given him all my savings. Each transaction was met with inner turmoil, reluctance, and guilt, but he skillfully managed to persuade me time and again to send him gift cards and Bitcoin. Despite my persistent doubts, the minute possibility of his story being true kept me ensnared.

Finally, the continuous stress and uncertainty became too much to bear. I had to end contact for my own mental health. Although I’m still haunted by doubts and a lingering sense of guilt, the overwhelming evidence and advice from authorities have made me accept that this was indeed a sophisticated, ruthless romance scam.

Today, I still grapple with the emotional aftermath. I feel foolish and betrayed, but I’ve come to realize that scammers are highly skilled manipulators, capable of exploiting our deepest vulnerabilities and emotions. Sharing my experience is part of my healing journey, as I hope it will alert others to the hidden dangers in seemingly harmless online spaces like gaming platforms.

I am now working on forgiving myself and rebuilding both emotionally and financially. My message to others is simple: trust your instincts, reach out for advice if something feels off, and never underestimate the lengths scammers will go to exploit genuine human compassion.

SCARS Institute Notes:

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