Orwell Is The Scariest Game I’ve Ever Played

“im in the middle of buying all of bonton with that platinum card i lifted from your desk….”

It’s clearly a joke between lovers. She isn’t really a thief, and all she wants to do is buy some wine for a romantic meal later that evening. The affection is obvious – these two clearly mean a lot to each other.

The words are underlined.

“Cassandra Watergate – stole a credit card from Josef Langley”.

I dutifully copy the information into my target’s profile.

“Good job,” says Symes, my handler. “That information can be used to put a freeze on his card.”

I feel sick to my stomach. On their own, robbed of context, the words are indeed a confession of guilt. Without the rest of the conversation, they mean nothing. Nothing, except an illegal act. The card will now be cancelled by the government, and put this couple’s romantic evening in jeopardy – and likely worse. Because of my actions.

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