When the message first popped up on Amir’s phone, he barely paid attention. It was one of those forwarded texts in a group chat—bright, flashy, and filled with promises. “New Register Free RM20! No Deposit Needed!” The banner had coins spilling out of a digital treasure chest, the kind you’d find in a mobile game. Amir was 16, curious, and always looking for something new online to explore. To him, it looked like just another game advertisement.
That night, while lying on his bed scrolling through his feed, the same ad appeared again—this time from an influencer he followed. The guy was laughing, spinning a virtual wheel, and celebrating a “big win” in a 15-second video. The caption read: “Just sign up and you can try for free. So fun!” Seeing it twice on the same day, Amir paused. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe it was like trying a demo version of a game. After all, RM20 free credit sounded harmless.
Curiosity tugged at him.
He clicked the link.
The website loaded instantly, filled with neon colors and bouncing animations. Buttons glowed as if they were calling out to him. Register now and get your free credit. The words flashed in gold. Amir hesitated, staring at the form asking for his name, email, and phone number. It felt a little too personal, but the excitement of discovering something secret and grown-up overshadowed the warning in his mind. He typed in the details and hit “Submit.”
Just like that, he was in.
The lobby of games spread out before him—spinning wheels, card tables, animated characters winking as if welcoming him into their world. The free credit appeared instantly in the corner: RM20, just like the ad promised. He clicked a game that looked like a slot machine. Lights flashed, music played, and the reels spun.
He won the first round.
It was a small win, maybe RM3 or RM4, but it felt thrilling. The screen celebrated loudly, showering him with digital confetti. Amir smiled. Maybe this really was harmless fun.
But as he kept spinning, the credit started to drop. First RM18… then RM15… then RM10. The excitement slowly turned into a kind of pressure—if he could just win once more, maybe it would go back up. But the wins became rare, and the animations suddenly felt less friendly and more like bait.
When his credit dropped to RM3, a pop-up appeared. “Out of credit? Top up RM10 and get an extra RM8 bonus!” The message glowed in red and gold, tempting him. For a moment, Amir actually considered it. It didn’t feel like spending real money—just like adding gems in a mobile game. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the way the platform kept urging him to pay. Maybe it was the sinking feeling in his stomach.
He closed the tab.
But the story didn’t end there.
The next morning, his phone buzzed with unfamiliar messages.
“Hi, top-up bonus today?”
“Deposit RM30 get RM50!”
“Special promo for you—reply FAST.”
Amir frowned, confused. Somehow, someone had his number. And they weren’t stopping.
By noon, he had received five calls from unknown international numbers. He didn’t pick up any of them, but each missed call made him uneasy. He thought about the registration form again—the one where he had entered his phone number without thinking.
He didn’t tell anyone, though. He felt embarrassed, like he had done something reckless.
Later that week, Amir finally decided to talk to his older cousin, Farid, someone he trusted. Farid listened quietly as Amir explained everything—from the free credit to the messages and calls.
Farid sighed. “You’re not the only one, you know. These things are designed to trap people. Not just teenagers—adults too. They make it look like a harmless game but they’re actually collecting data. Sometimes they sell the numbers. Sometimes they use it to push scams.”
Amir’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected it to be that serious.
“Free credit,” Farid continued, “is never really free. It’s bait. Once you sign up, they’ve already gained something from you. Some people get addicted, some spend money they never planned to, and others get scammed. The websites aren’t regulated, so if something happens… you’re on your own.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Amir felt both relieved—because he stopped before it got worse—and uneasy, knowing how close he came to getting pulled deeper. It was strange how something that looked like a simple game could carry so many risks. The bright ads suddenly felt darker, like they hid intentions behind the animations and the gold text.
From then on, whenever an ad flashed across his feed promising free credit, Amir saw it differently. He didn’t feel curious anymore; he felt cautious. He understood now how easily someone could slip into a dangerous space while thinking they were just exploring. He learned that not everything online is what it seems, and sometimes the most tempting offers are the ones that lead into trouble.
And in the end, that experience changed how he moved through the digital world—more aware, more alert, and far more careful with the things that claimed to be “free.” Source https://freekredit.slotter88.org/