Scary Stories and CreepyPasta's!

Operation Stingray In Effect

I have to make this quick. I don't have much time. None of us do.

I'm going to be leaving out some details and changing others. I have no way of knowing which of you reading this is already working for them.

In fact, you don't know if you are either.

Christ, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

I'd known Brian since college. We lived on the same floor freshman year and had some intense Call of Duty battles while everyone else was out improving their social skills. He was an asshole, but he was my kind of asshole, and I took a liking to him.

He was a computer science major, and I was in the music school. To this day I don't know a damn thing about computers, but I would get a kick out of listening to him talk about that stuff. He did a lot of black hat hacking and would constantly make vague references to bizarre documents and schematics he would pull off of government computers. To me, they sounded ridiculous. Bioengineered doomsday viruses! Underwater experimentation labs! Laser cannons in space! I was convinced he was making it all up.

After graduation we both stayed in the city, but weren't able to see each other much due to our respective work commitments. We'd get together every few months or so, and he'd always have some new piece of government conspiracy meat for us to chew on. We got drinks over the summer, and he told me he was looking into something major, something called "Operation Stingray." Serious security, even around the most innocuous references to it. A very, very big deal, he assured me. I nodded and challenged him to some drunken Team Fortress.

"Can't tonight, man," he said, "but when I blow the lid off of this thing, I'm going to Pyro your ass like the old days."

"Sure thing, Brian," I said. "Let me know how that works out for you." That was the last I'd heard from him for months.

Then, out of the blue one night, he texted me:

Brian: Need to talk. Meet me at [local restaurant] tomorrow at noon. Don't mention this to anyone.
Me: Sure man. Everything ok?
Brian: I don't know. Just please don't be late.

I chuckled. Always so dramatic. Lindsay rolled over in bed. "What's up, hon?" she said.

"Nothing, babe. Just Brian being Brian again. Go back to sleep."

I got to the restaurant a few minutes early to snag a table before the lunch rush. Across the street there was a small protest going on outside of one of the big downtown banks. "Money for schools, not for bonuses," they chanted.

Brian staggered in. Week-old scruff, pale and puffy skin, bloodshot eyes, sweat. I'd seen him like that a few times in college, but Christ we're supposed to be adults by now. He clutched a crumpled manila envelope with both hands.

"Morning, beautiful," I said.

"Thanks for coming, man. I didn't know who else to call. I'm sorry."

"Dude, relax, sit down."

He glanced around the restaurant and took his seat. He didn't let go of the envelope.

Were you followed?" he said.

"Listen to you, 'Were you followed.' Are you serious? Look, we can pretend to be spies but only so long as you don't actually creep me out."