The journey was intended to be short. Ten minutes without traffic—enough time to catch my train. I booked the taxi using the normal app, sat in the backseat, said hello, and stayed quiet.

Something felt odd.

The driver remained looking at me in the rearview mirror, waiting. I assumed he was simply chatting. I gazed out the window and gripped my backpack—laptop, ID, cash—close because I didn’t want to converse.

I smiled, thanked, and grabbed for the door as we arrived at the station.

He locked it.

“I think you forgot something,” he replied calmly, pointing to the front seat where my bag was now next to him. I had no idea he stole it.

I froze. Please, may I have that?

Shrugging. “Mini tip. All done. Get your bag.”

I laughed, believing it was a joke. He didn’t laugh back.

He held the bag and the lock like he’d done this before.

I informed him the app paid the fare. This was unlawful, I informed him. I threatened to report him.

He then leaned forward, dropped his voice, and said:

You may report me after missing your train. Or give me a little bit to catch. Your pick.”

Watched the clock. Six minutes till my train left.

Just as I went inside my coat pocket—not for my wallet—he whispered something my stomach twisted:

Don’t bother. You paid by card. So I know your name.”

He met my gaze in the mirror. My fingers froze mid-reach.

My name was known. My entire name, likely my address. All that was in the app. I felt like I was in a cage with the guy in front of me holding the keys.

I didn’t think. App’s emergency call button was pressed. The automobile beeped loudly.

He blinks. Just once. A click unlocked the doors.

He threw my backpack like trash.

“Leave.”

Nobody had to tell me twice. I grabbed the suitcase, hurried out the door, and raced fast.

I hit the stairs as the train whistled. I barely survived, lungs burning and legs trembling. I fell into my seat, gripping the bag for survival.

Not even then could I rest.

Something about his pronunciation of my name… Something about his tranquility… stuck with me.

I attempted to dismiss it. Could have been bluffing. He may have been a crook looking for fast cash. I would report him, disable the app, and finish.

However, as I pulled out my charger from my bag, I noticed something else.

A business card.

Plain black. No name. One number and word: “REDEEM”

I studied it at length.

What the hell?

Flipped it. Nothing.

Everything in my luggage was checked. Laptop? Still there. Wallet? Intact. Passport? Zipped inside the inner pocket.

But that card…

I texted my crypto- and underground web-savvy pal Theo a photo of it.

See anything like this? I typed.

Instantly, he responded.

“Where did you get that? You got it from who?

I told him about the driver without the weird portion.

“That number is linked to a dead drop system,” he wrote. “Private deals. It may be data, coins, or even people. It’s serious.”

Felt chilly.

Theo promised to investigate, but I ordered him to stop. I loathed being drawn into anything dark.

Three days later, an unknown number called.

I let it ring.

It rang again.

Once again.

Curiosity won on the fourth attempt.

“Hello?”

Did you use the card?

It was the driver.

My mouth dried. “No. I trashed it.”

A break.

You sure?

“Yes.”

Another pause. Then: “Good. Don’t.”

Click.

I stood in the kitchen for five minutes gazing at the phone like it might explode.

That night, I hardly slept. My imagination ran wild. What would have occurred if I phoned that number? He was engaged in what? Why give me the card?

I did something stupid following morning.

I found the card in the garbage.

Non-use was my intention. I merely needed clarification. Maybe Theo could safely track it for closure.

The card was gone.

I thought I put it in the kitchen trash, but it wasn’t. Also not in the bedroom bin. I live alone. Nobody had visited. No cleaners. No guests.

My stomach had a peculiar knot. Like when you’re watched.

I changed my door lock. I changed app passwords. Officially complained about the driver. App answered two days later that the account was suspended.

I should have felt better.

No, it didn’t.

Theo went silent the next week.

He generally responds within an hour. But two days passed. Then 3.

I contacted his roommate. He stated Theo went on a “quick trip” and never returned.

I tried not to panic.

Pretended it wasn’t linked.

I felt it wasn’t, however.

So I phoned his mom and pretended to check in. He hadn’t contacted her either.

A week passed before I visited him. His roommate admitted me. All seemed normal except for the corkboard over Theo’s desk.

A single pin held a black card in the upper left corner.

The same card.

Missing phone number. Just one word: “PENANCE.”

I departed after taking a snapshot. The card was left behind. I was done with it.

I couldn’t sleep again that night. I began documenting this. Every detail. Everything odd. Suppose anything happened to me.

However, this twist was unexpected.

Three weeks later, Theo returned.

Skinny. Exhausted. Pale. Still alive.

He refused to provide his whereabouts. Not explaining the card. I did something wrong. Never follow it.”

Did he require help? Police. Therapy.

He shook his head and muttered something memorable:

“Some people collect debts you didn’t know you owed. They don’t accept cash.”

I stopped pressuring him.

Today, we chat less. Moved to another city. Destroyed his accounts. I suppose it started over.

And I?

I abandoned that ride app. Even though it takes longer, switched to walking or busses.

I occasionally think about the driver.

Was it set up? Was I tested? Or simply unlucky?

I know that sometimes the quickest solution is the most costly in ways you can’t conceive.

Next time someone asks for a “little extra,” inquire what they’re selling.

The item I nearly purchased was not a ride.

The ticket led to something I didn’t want to grasp.

If you’ve met someone who seems odd, trust it. The intellect can’t describe what instincts know.

This article make you think? Like and share it with someone who needs a reminder to keep attentive.