'I Used to Work on the Deep Web: The FULL STORY'' | BEST NEW DEEP WEB STORY FOR 2018 [

Ah, the deep web. No place to make an honest living. But who wants to make an honest living anyway? So, welcome back to part four of this series.

Now, a lot of new subscribers recently. A very, very warm welcome to you all. And if you've missed the first three videos in this series, don't worry, I've put everything together in this one.

So, a bit of everything for everyone. Now, you check those timestamps in the video description to make sure that you begin at the point that's new for you. Well, my dear friends, everything comes to a conclusion this evening.

Well, almost everything. So, it's time to sit back and relax with your favorite drink and listen. Hey, my name's Ryan.

Not my real name, but the name I'll be using for myself from here on in. For obvious reasons, I won't be using anyone's real names. That's even if I knew their real names anyway.

Still, I'm not sure. I'm a 23-year-old guy from the UK, and I used to work on the deep web. Now, before you grab your pitchforks and torches, the deep web isn't all you think it is.

It's not guns, drugs, and porn. No. In fact, it's mostly just newsleaks, software sharing, forums, money solutions.

It's a lot of things, but very few of them are what modern media would have you believe. And with such a plethora of services, it's only natural there are many job opportunities on the deep web. I'd worked on there for a good few years until I called it quits.

If you're wondering why I stopped, well, that's a story for another day. For now, I'll get started where it makes most sense. The beginning.

I was a college student, part-time. Between my mind-numbing engineering course, I worked at everyone's favourite fast food outlet, McDonald's. This kept my life quite busy, but in my downtime, I would browse the deep web.

There were a few forums I would frequent, all of them being based around world events that the media would refuse to cover. This sort of stuff interested me, getting to see a world that mainstream media didn't want you to see. It was real, you know.

Well, I slowly ingrained myself into the community for one such forum. I knew quite a few people that posted there regularly. Some of them were PIs, some investigative journalists, some were… more colourful characters.

But the main theme across them all was they all tended to find things out that they shouldn't, and also wanted to share these things. Hence, they used this forum to spread these taboo findings. Now, I'll go into more depth about the others later, maybe in another post, but today, I'll be focusing on Matt.

At least, I'll be calling him Matt. Matt was one of these revolutionist types who was constantly trying to prove conspiracies about governments, corporations, you know the type I'm talking about. Nut jobs.

But the thing that made Matt different was that he had proof for his theories. He had evidence. Sources.

And my story today is about how I ended up becoming one such source. It was an average Sunday. I don't work Sundays, so it was my day off.

I spent it procrastinating away on both the clear net and deep web alike. I was checking out the forum I spoke about earlier, and I saw I had a DM from Matt. I trusted Matt.

He told me a lot about himself that checked out. He was a real honest dude. So, when he asked me stuff, I tended to be just as honest.

Which meant he knew what town I lived in, and apparently there was something going on in my town. Now, I live in a developing town, so quite a lot is always going on. But this news? This was not your normal developing town stuff.

Apparently, the local council were blackmailing one of the landowners to force them to sell their land for development. The landowner in question was a farmer who owned a sizable piece at the edge of the urban sprawl. After reading this, I responded to Matt with the usual, that's cool, thanks for the info.

But then he replied with, but there's more to this. I don't know what they're using as blackmail, but it has to be big. That farmer makes way too much money off his land to sell at the price they're demanding.

Intrigued, I asked Matt if there was any way he could find out more. And that's when he asked, yes, if you're willing to help. I'd never actively discovered any of this hidden news stuff, only browsed it.

That's what made me and Matt such good friends. But him asking me to get involved? Well, it had me at a crossroads. I left my deep web browser without replying.

Rude, I know, but I didn't quite know how to reply. I tried to focus on the latest game theory video, but I couldn't get the thought out of my head. Could I reveal some hidden news? Some conspiracy? I logged back into the forum, muting Mattpad's dultist theorist tones, and replied to Matt.

What are you asking me to do? I waited with bated breath for the response. Just talk to the guy. Maybe take some pictures.

Nothing crazy. These people tend to be more than happy to tell someone about this crap. I looked at the response and pondered.

What's the danger? Anything I should know? I replied. No danger. Unusually for a farmer, he doesn't have a gun license, so you should be fine.

Just talk to him. Now, I should mention at this point, Matt had told me the farmer's name and address, but I'm opting to leave that information out for all of our safety. As I was considering taking Matt up on his offer, he sent another message.

I'll pay. What's your PayPal? I froze. I had no idea that Matt paid his sources.

I slowly typed out one of my many PayPal emails. You have to have lots in order to have money on the deep web. £250 now.

£250 more after you give me the juice. I almost fainted after reading that sentence. £500 for driving to a farmer's house and talking to him.

That was almost too good to be true. I responded with a sharp fuck yeah and waited, refreshing the email associated with that PayPal account. Bam.

Dear Ryan, I'd forgotten to give myself a fake last name, so I'll just leave that bit empty. You received £250 from 3e99qr6 at hotmail.com. I checked the PayPal account and, sure enough, £250 sitting there. Sent.

You'd better not run away with my money now. I forgot I was talking to Matt. No, of course, I'll head down tomorrow evening and talk to him.

Want me to record it or anything? Heart beating, I awaited his reply. No, I'll trust your word. If I have any doubt, I'll send another source to confirm it.

Yet another source in my town. Why choose me? I decided I'd save those questions and be thankful for this very well-paid opportunity. I finished the conversation off with a talk tomorrow Matt and went to bed.

Not to sleep. There was no way I was sleeping with this crap racing through my head. After college the next day, I drove out to the farm.

You could see the construction firm setting up in the fields closest to the suburbia. I pulled down a dirt road and up to the drive of the farmhouse. I felt every bump on the way down.

My car was not made for off-roading by any measure. I locked my car and knocked on the front door for a reply. My heart was thudding against my ribs and my mind racing in anticipation.

I knocked again, opting to call out. Hello, Mr… Again, no last names. Are you there? I'm here to talk to you about your land agreement.

I heard shuffling behind the door, followed by the sound of the lock turning. Chain still on, I saw his face. He had the stereotypical look of an old English farmer, flat cap and all.

What do you want to be discussing? He said in a deep, angst-filled tone. I'm here to talk about the… I carefully chose my next words as to let him know I was on his side. The circumstances of your agreement and their bias against you.

I'd like to know more about the situation. Perhaps I can help you? My confidence wavered near the end of my speech. He didn't look strong, but his glare was more than terrifying.

His look softened and he opened the door, gesturing that I enter. I was wondering when some journalist might take an interest. Well, I can tell you, it's open shut.

Nothing more to it than the obvious. I sat myself down in his rustic living room. I'm pretty sure the furniture was older than him and that's saying something.

I'm no journalist, sir. Or at least, I don't think I am. Not the conventional sort, anyway.

Despite my racked nerves, I managed to keep a face of confidence. His interest seemed to peak at my words. Ah, tea? He asked, his glum look seeming to fade.

Perhaps it was meant for unwanted guests and my words had swayed him in my favour. Oh, yes, please. Milk, no sugar.

I hold off on questioning until we're both comfortable. As he busied himself with the tea, I sat there, wondering, what the fuck was I doing? He placed the cup before me, the delicate china seeming ready to break without notice. I decided that maybe I wasn't thirsty.

That cup looked pretty expensive. So, what are you interested in, my boy? I looked over the antique coffee table, meeting his gaze. I've heard that your situation has come about because of some information being used against you.

His face looked like that of a scalded child, out of shock and fear. Yeah, that be true. How did you come about that information? I faltered, wondering how I should reply.

A friend of mine has taken an interest in your case. He wishes to know more so he can help your situation. The old farmer looked down into his tea for a second.

If I say anything, it ne'er goes to the cops, alright? My heart seemed to stop for a moment. What could this old man have done that such caution and suspicion that the police couldn't know? My expression must have betrayed my thoughts, because after shooting a glance at me, he sighed and began explaining. My wife was a lovely lady.

Never hurt a fly, she wouldn't. But a couple of months ago, some drunk kids, they come from the city, you see. They broke into the farmhouse.

We both shot up and looked at one another. She shook her head as if to say, keep quiet. She opened the gun safe beneath our bed and got out her shotgun.

I interrupted, but I'm told you don't have a gun license. His face reddened slightly. No, not me, lad.

But the wife does. She does most of the work these days. Well, she got it out and opened the door.

I don't know what happened, but I heard shots and the old man started crying, head in hands. I was at a loss. What can you say to that? Some kids broke in, so his wife shot them.

Sir, what happened after? He wiped his eyes and looked back at me with a sniffle. We hid them. Buried them.

Cops traced it here. Next thing we know, some council suit is here telling us to sell or we go down for murder. He sighed heavily and sat his head in his hands, awaiting a response.

But why not go public? They invaded your property. I'm sure it's self-defense. He met my eyes with a piercing look.

Those boys were the mayor's sons. If I go public, I go down. If I don't sell... My heart was practically in my throat.

Choking back tears, I stood up. Thank you for your time. I'll see what I can do.

He stood with me, his face painted with a pained smile. I'll see you out, lad. As I walked to the door, I saw his wife standing in the entranceway, shotgun over her arm.

She was not as old as the man, but by no means young. She moved aside, glaring at me coldly. The second the door was open, I practically ran to my car.

Fumbling to get the keys into the ignition and get home, I sat at my laptop, still trembling from my previous encounter. I was typing up my report to Matt, still practically shitting. I'm sure that if I'd said the wrong thing, I might have died in that farmhouse.

He replied to my message quickly, considering its length. That's some story, Ryan. People will love it.

I'll see what I can do for the poor couple. And for you, well, danger's considered. I've dropped you the rest of the money and a little extra.

I'm sorry, I had no idea that the wife had a gun. I checked my paypal, £600 had been added to my account. There was no way this was all real.

This had to be a joke, right? But the agreed amount was £250, right? I typed out rapidly. Turns out this story is better than I expected. I'll be in touch, Ryan.

I left out messaging at that for the rest of the day. I'd just earned £850 for talking to an old man in the middle of a field about a murder. What.

The. Fuck. Well, that's the first job I ever had on the deep web, and what started this whole fucking mess.

I'd explain more, but it's late and I need some sleep. Let's just say that this isn't the last I heard from Matt, and certainly not the last job I took on the deep web. I'll be focusing on Matt and his jobs for now.

They're most of what I have to tell, but maybe I'll talk about some of the other jobs I took from other people along the way. For now, goodnight guys. Time for another night of no sleep.

I call it the deep web, as do most people I talk to. I know people who call it the dark net or dark web, but I call it the deep web. Sorry if that gets you tilted.

It's not the proper term, but it's the one that most people know, and yes, I'm from the UK. This all took place in the UK. People can own guns here, it's just not common.

They're generally used by farmers. Oh, one more thing before I carry on my story. I'm not sure how Matt knew my location.

He guessed and confirmed it. Still not sure how he guessed it. Wish I could ask him, but well, it's a bit late for that.

Anyway, back to the story. A couple of weeks had passed since my job for Matt. I spent those weeks impulse buying everything I could on Amazon thanks to Matt's generous pay, which meant a new laptop among other things.

I tried to keep my spending quiet so people didn't start asking questions, but it's pretty hard to buy a brand new laptop. College had broken up for half term, so I had a week off. Got paid holiday from work and everything.

As usual, I was wasting hours away on the internet. I'd taken up a new hobby. I was intrigued by that elderly couple Matt had sent me to talk to.

I couldn't find much on them on the clear net, but I did find something interesting on the deep web. Turns out the old lady, well, let's call her Janice, she had a criminal record for ABH, battery and assault, and this record wasn't from her teen years. This was from a mere 12 years ago.

She managed to get off with a fine and community service somehow, I guess because they couldn't put an OAP behind bars. I wanted to do more digging, but then the thought came to me. I know a professional at this stuff, right? I sent a message to Matt, asking if he knew anything or had done more research.

I didn't get an immediate reply, which is unusual for him. When he did respond, all he said was, yes, we need to talk, but not now. I was naturally spooked by this.

What had Matt found out? Assault charges weren't that interesting, right? The events of my last post still mess with me. That woman had killed two kids, and she was standing right god damn near. There was no way I was going near that place again.

I felt bad for the old guy, but the sooner they were gone, the better. Matt got back to me a couple of hours later. There's more to the story.

I have been taking a look into news stories for your town. The mayor's kids aren't the only missing kids in recent years. My mind raced.

The immediate conclusion I drew was that the old woman was a serial killer or something. She seemed capable of that shit. All missing persons tend to be teenagers with parents in the town.

He sent this message with a link to a clear net file sharing site. It had pictures of the missing persons police reports. How the fuck Matt got these, I'll never know, but I could see a trend straight away.

The mayor's sons, a local entrepreneur's daughter, the police inspector's son. They all certainly followed a theme. So, what does this mean? Because there's no way I'm going back into that fucking house, especially now I know this.

I tapped out my response with a deep-set feeling of fear and dread inside me. Yet that feeling didn't stop the slight excitement of this revelation. Was I actually considering taking up another job for Matt? I'll have another source to meet with you.

Choose a location and time. I know you have all week off. Now, before you draw conclusions, he didn't hack my computer to find that out or anything.

No, I told him. Like I say, we're good friends. I met up with Matt's other source, Jacob, again not his real name, but you get the idea at this point, at a coffee shop in town.

I brought a friend along. You can never be too careful. Jacob was a professional photographer who worked full-time for Matt.

I had no idea what that entailed, but I think I'd rather not know. Once I knew he was legit, I told my friend he could go, much to my friend's relief. Jacob was a bedraggled-looking man in his thirties.

The best way I can describe him is that if you saw him, you'd think he'd just walked in off the street. He even smelt like it. We work together now.

He spoke with an accent akin to that of an Eastern European. I've never been good with accents, so I have no idea where it's from specifically, though despite what you may think, his English was quite good. You have a car? he asked, his expression unwavering.

Yeah, it's parked out front. My jalopy was indeed outside the coffee shop. Quite why he was interested in it, though, I had no idea.

We take it to the farm. Watch the lady. Understand? I nodded slowly, not sure I was quite at liberty to decline.

Good. We go now. I hate coffee.

Makes me shit. I can't argue with that. The drive out of town had me pretty shaken.

I was going back out there and I wasn't even sure how much I'd be making for it. In my haste, I'd neglected to ask Matt for a paycheck. The construction at the edge of the couple's farm had extended slightly.

I could see foundations being set by a swarm of reflective workmen. Once past the chaos of the developing town, I slowed down. I drove past the road leading up to the farmhouse, instead taking another, even more overgrown and neglected road, further down which led to an abandoned barn on the couple's property.

I parked just out of sight of the barn, and Jacob busied himself with the duffel bag he'd brought along. He got out a few different, very expensive looking cameras, and began setting them up to look out of the car's back left window, aiming them at the barn and fields behind. There was a line of shrubbery enclosing the field the barn was in, which left quite an ominous, claustrophobic feeling.

Jacob didn't seem to feel this at all, but then again, he was a professional. I didn't know what half the she had in there was, but by the time he was done, the setup looked pretty impressive. We put sensors in field, so know where old lady walking.

You lock car, someone steal my camera, I kill you. He gave me a look that seemed only half joking. I laughed nervously in response.

We walked around the farm, carrying small GoPro-like cameras with antennas attached to them. Every now and then, we would stop and attach one of the cameras somewhere, usually pointed towards barns or sheds, that kind of stuff. After about an hour of this, the skies were dark.

Dusk had been setting in when we arrived, and night had rapidly approached. I could see the lights of the farmhouse in the distance. We need sensors there.

You, smaller. You put there. I looked at Jacob with an expression akin to that of terror.

His look made it obvious his statement was not up for debate. I took a sensor from him and crept towards the shrubbery surrounding the farmhouse. I placed one of the sensors in a bush, pointing towards the front door.

The farmhouse was by no means big, so my crawl towards the rear side didn't take long. Then I saw a silhouette in one of the downstairs windows, and I froze. Fuck me.

I practically shat myself right there and then. Unlike Jacob, I didn't need coffee to shit myself. Just a psycho old lady with a shotgun.

The back door had a canopy enclosing it. A sensor might be able to pick up movement from the shrubbery, but there was no guarantee. I had to get closer.

I slowly and painfully dragged myself over the bushes surrounding the farmhouse, wrecking my new genes in the process. I crept towards the back of the house, spotting a small garage around the back, rolling door half open. I approached with caution, fitting that of a soldier in enemy territory.

Though that analogy wasn't far from the truth, the garage was filled with the years of clutter. I placed the sensor just inside, pointed at the back door of the farmhouse. I was just about to head back when I heard the back door open.

My heart dropped. In a panic, I climbed on top of a knocked over wardrobe and seated myself behind it, hopefully out of view. The garage stank of refuse, but that wasn't my main concern.

The old lady walked out into the backyard, carrying a bin bag. I let out a slight sigh of relief as she threw the bag into a large dumpster, turned and returned into the farmhouse. Despite knowing she was gone, I waited a good while before exiting the garage and returning to the shrub line, once again pulling myself over and returning to Jacob.

Why take so long? It's only sensor, not rocket science, Jacob said with a smirk. I'm sure he was joking, but my nerves weren't in a humorous state. The walk back to the car was silent.

Once back, Jacob took out a laptop and began tapping away. Every now and then I would hear a beeping sound coming from the laptop speakers, which would jolt me back from my drowsiness. All sensors work.

Now we wait. You sleep first. I wake you if need you, Jacob said, breaking the silence.

I grunted in way of response. He was already half asleep, and I wasn't awaiting his permission to be fully asleep. I don't know how long I was out until he woke me.

Hey, the lady is moving. Wake up, dumb shit, came his deep voice, pulling me unceremoniously out of my slumber. What? I asked, my mind still not fully awake.

He kicked the back of my chair from the back seat. The lady, she coming this way. This woke me up quite a bit more.

I looked behind me at Jacob, his laptop screen illuminating his face. Where is she now? He closed his laptop lid and pointed out the window to his left. She'd just broken through the tree line and was walking towards the abandoned bar.

I sank down in my seat, praying that she wouldn't look over and see the car. I wish I'd bought one in a less conspicuous color. Red doesn't tend to blend in well with showery.

She vanished from view into the bar. Jacob looked over at me. Unusually, he seemed just as tense as me.

He whispered, Get out. Stay low. I go first.

Leave key in ignition. If she sees, we run.