I never thought I’d find myself watching a guy chisel his toes off with an icepick. Or see someone get strangled to death. And I definitely didn’t think I’d end up working for the biggest, underground murder network in the world.
I should back the story up. It was the summer of 2016. The summer Pokémon Go took over. The summer of the Rio Olympic Games.
It was the summer I stumbled upon a door to a world I wish I never set foot in. The door that changed my entire view of humanity.
I was always the type of person to search for an adrenaline rush. In school I would skip class for the rush of potentially getting caught by an administrator. I used to shoplift shit from random stores to feel the rush, later to throw the stuff I stole away in a garbage bin because I didn’t really need it. And I searched the internet far and wide for the most outrageous, outlandish, sick shit you could find – all for the chase of the rush.
One of my favorite pastimes in the summer of 2016 was browsing through Not Evil’s, Troll Scroll. Despite the constant pestering of sicko sex offenders (or soon to be) looking for their fix, the Troll Scroll has proven to be an informational source of sick (GORE) type shit for the sicko like me looking for the fix of an adrenaline rush.
Most of the stuff posted in the GORE forums on the Troll Scroll are obviously fake. When a guy pops his eyeball out of his socket but the camera switches angles right at that split second the spoon is about to enter his eye, you know the dude is a phony, an imposter. But there are some legit GORE forums out there if you know how to find them.
Getting a handle on where to search the Troll Scroll takes some time and some networking. This isn’t a “how to” article, so I won’t go into great details. But a helpful hint – no matter what you are searching for on the Troll Scroll – is to network and let your screen name (keep it anonymous ANON) be a rememberable one. My chosen name – SaintVoDka – is a rememberable name in the GORE community and showed a potential GORE forum operator I was serious about the hobby.
I’m not going to lie, it took a while to get established on the Troll Scroll as an ANON who could be trusted, but eventually I found the niche I was looking for. And more importantly, the people.
One of the first ANON’s (who name I will not repeat) led me to a trove of valuable old school GORE pictures.
This ANON specialized in the old school original GORE. War pictures from World War II, World War I and the Civil War. The website ANON led me to had a black background with a bloody, 1950s style German helmet on it. In the background of the website there was music playing the song on repeat “8 × 50 mm. Repetiergewehr M.95” by the band 1914. There was a password prompt that gained you access to the website once ANON trusted you were not someone looking to compromise his hobby.
The pictures on ANON’s website were primarily filled with pictures of dead soldiers from the past wars. These were pictures you wouldn’t find in any history book. They were exclusive pictures this guy somehow had access to. They were brutal, ruthless and cruel photos that showed the dark side of humanity.
Becoming a paying member to ANON’s war site led me to additional leads to the dark side of humanity.
I found the video archives to the original BME Pain Olympics.
I found the infamous video (scrubbed from the internet) titled, “Shocked mom walks in on her son cutting his toes off.”
And I also stumbled upon the door to the greatest evil I have ever set my eyes on. The Red Room.
For those who don’t know what the Red Room is and what it entails here is a quick excerpt I pulled from Quora:
“When I came across this word, I delved into this for a rigorous research and found some facts about the Bloody Room. I have read many of the real-life experiences (of those who been to Red Room) from Reddit and decided to spill out those points here: Red Rooms are the live video streaming Onion or Shadow sites with the option of live IRC chats along with Bitcoin payment. Now, does that ring a bell for you? Still no, then now I can explain. You can call Red Rooms as Virtual Harassment Terminal which includes many of the world’s heinous & blatant coercion is being executed lively as per the inflow of Bitcoins to the Organizers, as per the orders of members in the Live IRC Chats. When you login to a Red Room, you might see the Harassment Scenario (say a Blindfolded women is being tied to a rope with a chair). Once the Room (Chat/Red Room) gets locked; there begins the Cruelty for Psychics. As the web cam will be placed for sure in the Crime Scenario; the actions will get reflected according to the chats in the IRC channel. Let’s say a person say in chat: “Smash her stomach, I paid $200”. Then the hooded figure who is in charge to harass that women will do the same to her, once the payment gets confirmed.
By this, the fate of that women shall be decided by the Red Room members. It is not illegal to be into Red Room, but I will not suggest you to be there, as with your presence in RR makes it indirectly tailed up with a Public Virtual Crime.”
An ANON I met through an animal torture forum – posing as an Animal Liberation Front (think PETA) – gained me access to my first Red Room.
All the Red Rooms look the same. Anyone who has scrounged the depths of the dark web has likely stumbled upon a Red Room unknowingly. The hyperlinks for Red Rooms are plastered all over the dark web if you know where to look. And if you do stumble upon one, it will lead you to a page with a password prompt.
If you have access to the password be ready for a world of change. A world filled with filth and hate.
When I put the password, I was given into the prompt, the website led me to a dark, gloomy room. The room had cement, dungeon like floors. The camera was angled up high so you could see the entire room from a bird’s eye view. In the middle of the room was a damaged, wooden chair that looked like it was the piece of a dining room set from the 70s. On the side of the screen was a chat room where other ANON’s started logging in under gruesome names.
Ding, FieldofScreams has arrived.
Buzz, StraightFacedGangRape has entered the chatroom.
Ping, Theonlymeatieatishuman has joined.
It went on like this for 15 minutes.
Statutorycompromise entered the chat room.
Crownoftowers has joined the chatroom.
Hammeringthenails has now joined.
When all the Anon’s arrived, a broad-shouldered man carried out a slender, small person, with a burlap sack covering their face, and set them in the 70s era style chair. He proceeded to restrain the individual to the chair with ropes.
The man with the broad-shoulders was wearing all black, no color he was dressed in. He carried the burlap covered individual like a sacrificial offering of virgin ears. He wore black combat boots you see the Neo-Nazis wear. And he wore a disturbing mask of a pig – with cut up, blood-stained cheeks, wild black hair that laid desolate across his broad-shoulders and bloody yellow teeth that jutted in every direction.
An ANON named SELFDISEMBOWELMENT immediately typed into the chat terminal, “TAKE THE SWINE’S SACK OFF!”
This was my first Red Room experience, so I had no idea what was going to happen, how the chatroom etiquette worked, or if what I was watching was real or fake.
The broad-shoulder man in the pig mask ripped the burlap sack off the sacrificial offering.
Long black hair danced off the offering’s shoulders. Black mascara was stained on the high cheekbones of the lady in the chair. Red lipstick smeared across her lips. Her eyes were closed not like she was sleeping, but rather passed out from a drug.
“WAKE THE SWINE UP”, DevouredCarcass typed into the chat terminal.
“Smack”, the man in the pig mask slapped the passed-out lady across the face.
“Ah, what the fuck!”, screamed the lady.
“Where am I? Who are you”, she questioned with a frightened, panicked look on her face?
“$50 bucks to cut her fucking hair off”, an ANON typed into the terminal.
The man in the pig mask left the room and returned with dull, rusted scissors. When he began cutting her hair the sacrificial lady began screaming for help.
“Help, somebody please help me!”, she shouted.
$75 bucks to break her index finger!
$100 bucks to punch her the face!
$300 bucks to cut her face with a razor blade!
It continued like this. ANON’s behind their terminals were paying the man in the pig mask to torture this lady. The higher the dollar price went the sicker the requests got.
$500 bucks to pour hot water down her throat!
I started to get really into it. This lady was a patsy and we were in control. A God like aurora washed over me. Dopamine and endorphins slammed through my brain rocking my neurotransmitters responsible for the pleasure release. I was high from the adrenaline rushing through my body.
When the masked man was about the pour steaming hot water down the patsy’s throat I sat up in the edge of my char in suspense.
Suddenly my screen went black. A gray dialogue box popped up in the middle of my screen saying that the user named, ON-set-of-INFECTION, just paid $10,000 dollars to take the torture private for his own viewing.
“FUCK!”, I screamed. Enraged spit spewed across my computer screen and infuriated fists pounded into my desk.
I didn’t realize it at the time of my rage – for I was more pissed off at what I was going to miss – but I was hooked, the Red Room became an internal addiction. A sick, dark hole with no ladder leading out. And I was plunging head first into the dark tunnel of no return.
My weekends, which were once filled with the gazing rays of the summer sun and sand filled thongs, became occupied with the dark dungeon of the Red Room.
At first my excuses to my once loyal friends was that I was sick, I had homework to do, my grandma is in the hospital – turned completely into ignoring every text I got.
The Red Room hobby wasn’t cheap, so I ended up picking up a second job delivering pizzas. I also had a nice windfall of $10,000 dollars from my late grandmothers’ estate that was passed along to me.
To pay for anything in the Red Room required bitcoin. When I got my grandmother’s estate, I immediately converted the $10K into bitcoin. Luckily, I timed this right with bitcoins meteoric rise, turning me into a multimillionaire in a few quick months.
I now had enough cash to fund my Red Room addiction pretty much indefinitely. I quit my shitty job and networked online through dark web forums and talked with other fucked up individuals I met in Red Rooms.
By 2018 my online persona grew to be quite infamous in the small Red Room circles I occupied. I was notoriously known for taking Red Rooms private for my own torture pleasure by dropping an easy $50K.
With the amount of money I had, I was able to self-direct the hooded torture chamber man to do my bidding. The quantity of dopamine my brain unleased from a slow death by strangulation, beheading, drinking copious amounts of urine, or whatever, was unreal. I became a literal death God. A living angel of death. A Mashhit! And with the quick type on my keyboard and a few thousand bucks, I could decide the fate of anyone. I was a king!
But as with any high, you’re always chancing the white dragon. I found myself frequently reminiscing the first ordered kill I made. I wanted to feel that again. However, with every ordered kill after my first, the dopamine my brain released was unproportional.
And then I met Baalberith.
When you are giving orders to kill people through Red Rooms, you start to get suspicious about everything. What the hell is that van doing parked outside of my house! The mailman fucking knows, I just know it. I think my computer has been comprised.
By the Spring of 2018 was I was on my way to becoming fully psychosis. Everything made me apprehensive. I must have gone through five different computers in three months out of pure insanity – frying the entire hard drives in each computer so the fucking FBI agents parked outside of my house (supposedly) would not have the records to send me to death row.
The morning of April 20th was like any other morning. I made my coffee. Read the newspaper. Ate a protein bar. Then checked the crypto markets to see where my net worth would be quoted at today. Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on my door.
“Bang, bang, bang”, my oak, front door shook.
My heart fell into my gut and my flight or fight responsive was kicked into full gear.
“I’m fucked”, I thought to myself.
I slowly creeped to the door and looked out of the peephole.
A pale faced man with black, auburn looking hair stood on my front porch. I opened the door.
The stranger stared at me with a big grin on his face. His teeth were crooked and yellow. He was wearing a black tank-top and faded blue jeans. He was a small guy, maybe 120 pounds at that.
“It is very nice to meet you, SaintVoDka”, the man sneered.
I grabbed the stranger by the collar and pulled him into my house, slamming the door behind me.
“Where the fuck did you hear that name”, I shouted at him.
“Ha ha ha, the stranger laughed. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
“Explain yourself now”, I screamed.
Blood was pumping through my veins. The pulse in my temple was twitching. I grinded my teeth so hard I broke a tooth. I never really killed someone in cold blood before, but I was ready to end this guy. He knew my secret. He knew my Red Room name. Who the fuck was he?
“Relax man, the stranger said still grinning. My name is Baalberith. I am a friend”.
My blood pressure came down a bit. I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket and threw it into my dry, chapped lips.
“Sit down over there Baalberith, tell me what you know”, I said as I lit the cigarette.
Baalberith was the brains behind the Red Room operation. The Chief Executive Officer of the biggest, more profitable underground torture network on the dark net. He said him and his colleagues have been watching me for a while now. That they know exactly how much I have spent in Red Rooms and how many Red Rooms I have taken private for my own pleasure.
We talked for hours. He told me everything about the Red Room operation. Told me how he got started in this sick industry, how many people were working for him, and answered any question I had. His operation made Peter Scully’s, Daisy’s Destruction, look harmless.
Then he offered me a job.
I took the job and put my house on the market. I was off to start a new life. A new life in Iligan City, a coastal city in the South Philippines.
Adjusting to life in Iligan City wasn’t easy. Not only was I starting a new and demanding job but learning the native language of Maranao added additional stress to my life.
I worked 6am until about 7pm every day. Baalberith was a demanding boss, but an excellent mentor. He had high hopes for me and wanted me to be his protégé. With my demanding work schedule, I learned the ins and outs of Baalberith’s operation.
From the outside Baalberith’s operation was a cyber security firm, a complete ploy to fool the authorities. Baalberith had about fifty people working for the cyber security wing. These guys had no clue that this was just a façade covering up the real operation.
The core of the operation was the “Beelzebub” segment. This was the most important part of the business. The hand that went out and found the food to keep the Red Room alive. This is where I spent the majority of my time. Finding individuals to kidnap.
My time at Beelzebub was spent working with a lady named Liezyl Margallo. Liezyl was a Filipino born in the small town of Basco. She had long brown hair, deep brown Betty Davis eyes, and a thin smile. She had to weigh only 90 pounds, but she was as ruthless and as dangerous as they come. Her operative alias was Shannon Carpio.
Liezyl lived in an upscale condominium. She had an exclusive gym membership to a swank club. She spent her evenings drinking fine wine in posh dresses that would cost the average Filipino an arm and a leg. Her entire high-class lifestyle was funded by the Red Room Beelzebub operation.
Most of my time spent with Liezyl was in her beat-up red Range Rover. Our time was spent looking for potential victims. I can still remember to this day Liezyl luring in a street prostitute with a few bucks hanging from her fingers.
Prostitutes were the easiest prey. They were especially easy to get in the Range Rover – without causing a scene – and no one ever misses a street whore. The last thing the Philippian police want to do is track down a missing escort.
Tourists were another market for us. The City of Iligan is known for its waterfalls. But not every waterfall is the same.
If you are from the City of Iligan you know what waterfalls are safe and what ones are unsafe. It’s basic street smarts. But tourists don’t always have the pleasure of knowing what waterfalls not to visit.
There is one waterfall Liezyl and I spent a considerable amount of time at looking for potential victims. It is way out in the boonies. Up in the eastern bound mountain range. You will get absolutely no service there and the local authorities dare not travel there.
The last victims Liezyl and I captured, before the entire Red Room operation blew up, was a young couple from the states.
I remember Liezyl vividly that day. She was wearing tight camo pants, a black tank top and a green military ball cap. Over the past year my relationship with Liezyl grew from a professional “work” relationship to a romantic one. Despite the romance we professed to each other, we kept it secret.
Baalberith banned work relationships. In fact, he banned all relationships in general. He viewed relationships as a distraction. A nasty interference that would compromise the entire operation. In hindsight, I wished I paid heed to Baalberith’s warning.
I remember spending the afternoon paying more attention to Liezyl than monitoring my surroundings. Her bronze shoulders gleamed in the sun. Her smile radiated happiness. And her eyes trapped me into a soul upon which I could not leave.
We spent that afternoon talking about our childhoods. Liezyl told me about the hardships she faced growing up in a poor family in the Philippians. I told her about the United States and the middle-class family I grew up in. She was amazed that I ended up working for Baalberith given my background. Everyone who works for Baalberith usually makes a fortune then moves to the United States for retirement – I did the exact opposite.
When the sun was about to set, we were going to call it a day. That is when we heard a voice.
The voice came from a young couple walking up the path that leads to the waterfall. The couple was young. In their early 20s. They were white and spoke clean English.
Baalberith would pay us a considerable amount of we captured both the guy and the girl alive. Couples, especially white ones go for a hefty premium in the Red Room. There is sick underground fetish in the Red Room where sickos like me pay to watch a couple get tortured together.
It wasn’t hard kidnapping the couple. Liezyl distracted them and I snuck up behind them and knocked them out with a crowbar. An easy kidnap. Shit we have done hundreds of times to unsuspecting tourists.
I swear I remember patting the tourist couple down. I recall specifically searching their pockets for a cell phone to destroy. And I remember not finding a cell phone. I can blame it on my lust for Liezyl – my Achilles heel. But my distraction for Liezyl likely led to the downfall of the entire Red Room operation.
On the drive back to the Red Room, I looked the tourist couple in the eyes when they woke up from their haze of being knocked out. They were tied up, there was duct tape over their mouth and our windows in the red Range Rover were blacked out – tinted.
The fear you see in a victim’s eyes is an indescribable feeling. It’s a feeling of power. Of total control.
When we got the couple back into the Red Room operation, Baalberith was pleased with the haul of the day. He gave both me and Liezyl our checks and asked if I could do him a favor and grab something he left in his car. That was the last time I saw Liezyl, Baalberith and the Red Room operation.
When I was walking out of the back door to the parking lot, the local police agency was busting into the front door of the Red Room’s cybersecurity operation. Apparently, the couple Liezyl and I brought in somehow alerted the cops to their kidnapping and got them an exact location where they were. To this day I don’t know if the couple had a cell phone stashed on them somewhere I missed, or if someone saw us kidnap them and reported us.
When I heard the police sirens, I booked it out of there as fast as I could. I knew I didn’t have anything at the Red Room operation that would lead the police to me. The only way the police would ever find out I was involved in the operation is if someone would snitch. But even if that happened, no one there knew my real name, not even Liezyl and Baalberith.
The City of Iligan was crazy the next few weeks. All over the local television stations blared the capture of the notorious Red Room villains that were busted by a local police force. Pictures of Baalberith and Liezyl were blasted everywhere. The City of Iligan was hot. It was swarming with Federal Agents and I needed to get the fuck out of there.
Eventually I ended up buying a one-way flight to London. I spent a few weeks in London collecting my thoughts and what I had left of my once – bandit lifestyle. Everything that I once knew was gone. Liezyl was in a Federal prison. Baalberith ended up killing himself in his cell. And the Red Room was officially gone.
In due course, I made it back to the States. I live a quieter life now. I work a 9-5 to keep myself busy, to stay distracted. I have a fiancé who I plan on marrying next summer. She has no clue about my past life running an underground murder and torture operation. She thinks I went to college to become a computer programmer and have been living the American Dream since.
Every so often I see in online forums people talking about the infamous Red Room stories. Most people believe it was a hoax. They say the dark web is to slow to live stream videos – torture and murder videos at that. I sit back and chuckle. Reminisce the glory days of the Red Room. Then I collect the IP addresses of the non-believers and put them into my data base. They’ll believe in the Red Room one day. The day when I bring it back online and have my headhunters get my first victims.