On paper, the anatomy of a refund scam is simple. A scammer calls a victim, alerting them of some fictitious tax rebate or tech refund. After gaining access to the victim's computer and navigating to their banking page, the scammer uses simple text edits to 'change' the victim's bank balance, pretending to have sent far too much money than they were supposed to. A combination of tactics is used to create a sense of urgency and prevent the victim from thinking about this too hard, whether it be piling blame on the victim themselves or descending into an emotional breakdown about how the scammer will lose their job and be unable to support their family. The victim is urged to send the excess money back — but unlike the fictional money 'mistakenly' deposited into their account, the funds they hand over to the scammer are all too real.
At least, that's how it's supposed to work when they're not sitting across from someone whose sole objective is to make the entire process as difficult and frustrating as possible. Scambaiting – or the practice of deliberately wasting a scammer's time to keep them from victimizing others — is an art, and there are some staggeringly elegant schemes out there. Sometimes, though, you just want someone to act like a good old-fashioned immovable object, which is where Rinoa Poison comes in. The goal is simple: be as obstinate as possible until these thieves lose it in spectacular fashion.
I've been giggling along to these over my last few breakfasts. The absolute incandescent rage Rinoa is remarkably talented at teasing out of these scammers is nothing short of glorious – and honestly, it's the least they deserve.
