The Market Had Odds on My Death

Three hours ago, I found a market offering odds on whether I would survive until midnight.

I know it was about me because the listing included a photograph of my bedroom, which was taken from outside the window. 

I live on the seventh floor.

I’m writing this down because the police didn’t believe me. Maybe nobody here will either, but I want to make sure that at least there’s some record, somewhere, stating what happened to me tonight. 

I gamble occasionally, but nothing serious. Sometimes I also check prediction markets, so the idea of betting on real-world events wasn’t completely unfamiliar to me. I’d used Polymarket before to see what people thought would happen in elections, sports, and other major events. But the website I found tonight was different. 

I’m familiar with the field, but I didn’t know its name. And the site didn’t have any company information or a logo. It didn’t even have an About page. The screen was almost completely black, apart from one line of white text in the center:

WELCOME BACK, SUBJECT 4417.

Obviously, I assumed that “Subject 4417” was a random username assigned to every new visitor, just because I had never visited the website before. But once I scrolled down, I saw this:

WILL SUBJECT 4417 SURVIVE UNTIL 12:00 A.M.?
YES: 93%
NO: 7%

Of course, I didn’t take it seriously and even laughed at this “cheap trick” (as I thought in that moment). Then I noticed that 184 users had already placed bets.

But soon I noticed there was also a profile for Subject 4417. The age was mine. The profile featured my occupation and home address, including my exact apartment number. It listed the model of my phone, the route I usually take to work, and the medication inside my bathroom cabinet.

This was too much. Still, I told myself that companies collect more information than we realize. Most of us aren’t nearly as anonymous online as we like to believe. But this was just rationalization I had just before I’d freak out. That’s what we, humans, always do whenever something is too odd to believe. 

Then I saw the photograph.

It showed my bedroom from outside the window. I was also there, sitting at my desk and staring at the website. According to the timestamp, it had been taken just two minutes earlier.

I turned around quickly to pull back the curtain, but nothing was there, nobody was behind me. My bedroom door was closed and the curtains covered the window.

When I returned to my computer, the odds had changed.

YES: 81%
NO: 19%

So my chance of survival had fallen to 81%.

I locked the front door. It rose to 86%. I called the police. It dropped to 49%.

That’s when I opened this post and started writing down everything that had happened. I’ve been updating it whenever I’ve had a moment since then.

The operator listened politely but clearly thought this was online harassment. The moment I gave her my address, the number dropped again.

Then a comment section appeared beneath the market.

northstar: He called the police earlier than last time.
cornerhouse: The stairwell task has been accepted.
white_room: Has anyone checked the bedroom window?
guest8821: Window is closed. Uploading proof now.

I clicked on one user’s profile and instead of previous bets, it showed tasks the user had completed:

Disconnect the lobby camera.
Leave the side entrance unlocked.
Call Subject 4417 and keep them distracted.

That was when I understood that the market wasn’t predicting my death. The strangers were getting paid to make it happen. 

My hallway lights went out. Someone slowly tried my door handle.

I couldn’t wait for the police, so I ran down the maintenance staircase. I tracked the odds on my phone and they changed with every floor. By the third, survival had reached 38%. In the basement, it suddenly fell to 12%.

I think someone was even coming down behind me.

I escaped through the emergency exit and ran into the brightly lit convenience store across the street, which had cameras, an employee, and several customers who were also there.

My survival odds climbed to 98%, and I breathed out. 

At 11:57, the market closed. Then every phone in the shop made the same notification sound. Everyone looked at their screens. Then they looked at me.

I looked at the phone and realized that they were all looking at the final task on the market: Keep Subject 4417 inside until 12:14 a.m.

Reward was $500.

The cashier locked the door. 

It’s 12:04 now.

Nobody’s touching me. Nobody needs to. They’re just standing between me and the door, phones out, watching the same countdown as I am.

I tried the exit anyway. The cashier didn’t say anything, just shook his head slightly, like I was breaking some rule everyone else already understood. An older man checked his phone and closed the gap without really looking at me. Nobody threatened me or talked to me. They just needed me to keep standing here for ten more minutes and 

Nobody’s raised their voice. Nobody’s threatened me. It doesn’t need threats. It just needs me standing here for ten more minutes, and apparently that’s worth enough to a room full of strangers that none of them are going to open that door.

The market says my body will be discovered here at 12:16.

I still don’t know what happens at 12:14.

But the refrigerator behind me has stopped humming. And something inside it has started knocking.