That Time I Got Scammed in Diablo 2
The year was 2001. I was in eighth grade. Every Friday and Saturday night, when my older sister was out, that meant the phone line was open and it was time to hop online and delve into the world of Diablo 2.
I was somewhat aware of how awful I was at the game, but I still couldn’t get enough of it. As a 14-year-old, I had the sense I was an underdog in a population of gaming gurus, hackers, ladder jocks—college kids who could game all night without their mom kicking them off by 3:00 AM. I tended not to level up all that quickly because I spent over half my time hanging out in trading games. I didn’t have a scrap of gear worth trading. I just liked to ping people for trades, just to stare at all the high level gear they could show me. The idea of power farming alone was never quite as intriguing as socializing at the town square.
Eventually my Sorceress got on up there, to level 60 or so, and I still had a bunch of budget gear. But I knew I was getting somewhere when I finally dropped my own unique War Staff off Mephisto. My stomach recoiled when I saw the golden lettering, after identifying it. The Iron Jang Bong. This was not just a good staff. This was end game gear, with stats like +2 to all Sorceress skills, +20% faster cast rate, and a nice +30 defense bonus on top. This was the best staff I had ever seen. Finally I had the kind of gear I could show off in trading games, and people would want to trade for it!
Just a few nights later, my luck turned out to be on a roll. During a long chat session next to Charsi’s shop, a guy said he’d gift me a rare item, because he had a program that could make them. I didn’t quite believe him, but he told me to meet him in a private game and he’d give me a choice of two different rare armors. I went along with it, and a few minutes later he gave me the best armor I had ever owned. How item duping and hacking worked, I didn’t know. But I wanted to find out. He said he’d help me learn how to make my own items. He had the elixir, so to speak, and it came in the form of a URL that I had to go to. Once I got his program downloaded, I’d be able to make all the rare items I wanted. I’d be richer than I had ever dreamed...
My dad had warned me not to download too much unnecessary crap onto the family computer, as that’s what slowed it down. But this was a worthy cause. I typed in the URL this guy had given me, downloaded a small .exe file with a very pixelated icon, and ran the program. Now, many of you know what happens next, when a dumb 14-year-old downloads and runs a program that some internet stranger, with a motive of his own, tells the kid to download. But I had to learn this lesson on my own.
I was expecting some program to pop up and give me all the choices in the world. Instead, the game jumped back to full screen on its own, my inventory screen popped up, and one if my items was flung onto the ground. I snatched my mouse and tried to pick the item back up, but my character started running in the wrong direction. I couldn’t click anywhere I wanted to click. My character just ran around in a spasmodic manner, dropping items one by one. The shady guy followed along and picked them up, one by one. The last to go was my precious Iron Jang. Gone. Everything. My inventory was wiped. When I finally gave up, standing naked in the middle of town, I saw that the program was just executing a simple repetition of opening the inventory, clicking an item slot, moving the cursor to the left, clicking to drop, then going to the next item slot.
I almost cried. It was impossible to quit an online game without saving, but I thought maybe if I just committed the sin of cutting the computer off in the middle of a game, somehow the changes would revert. I did that. Loaded back into the game. Still naked.
I wandered the landscape of games in desolation. About a half hour later, who turned up in a different game? None other than the shady scammer himself. I walked up to him and just stood there, wondering what he would say, wondering what I could say. Of course he wasn’t about to give any of the gear back. Especially not that staff.
I decided the best attempt at getting anything back was to talk tough. So I just said, "Sup?"
He said back, “Sup.”
“Cool trick you pulled there.”
“Trick?”
It was pointless to say much else. He was just going to play dumb. I hung around a bit, with no clue where to go. Even the Act 1 monsters would be difficult to kill with 0 gear. The shady guy chased after me and pinged me for a trade. I opened up the window, and he randomly gave me back my helmet. That was it. No word as to why he felt just a touch enough sympathy to return that one item.
The Iron Jang was gone for good.
That was how I learned, some people do indeed log onto the internet with an intent to tell lies.
It’s been two decades since then, and nothing in the entirety of my internet usage has burned me that badly. I read posts on the Diablo reddit sometimes, people complaining about how the user base has become so toxic. I don’t see that anywhere. More than once a guy has offered me a Pul rune for 40 jewels, and they just throw it on the ground, fully trusting that I’ll throw the jewels on the ground in return. Sure, there’s still scammers out there. But my guard is still way too high.
Playing through Remastered, I’ve gotten a Sorceress into the 90s for the first time. I spend most of my time power farming, still chasing that image of the perfect build. On a Mephisto run I happened to drop a War Staff, lit up by gold lettering. I picked it up, identified it, and adored that golden allure—The Iron Jang Bong. After 20 years, the item and I had finally been reunited.
I placed it where it belonged. Right back on the ground where I had found it. That thing was about as outdated as the modem I used to play on. I have a 40 Res HOTO that is worth more than a hundred Iron Jangs. It didn’t need to take up space in my stash. After all, the item already has a firm place in my heart.