Once I deployed the Ethereum smart contract and deposited my initial ETH, I thought the hard part was over. I imagined the bot quietly working in the background, generating passive profits while I went about my life. Instead, I found myself caught in a relentless cycle of repeated demands - each one pushing me deeper into the trap and draining my wallet bit by bit.

The First Demand: “Activate the Bot”

After deploying the contract, the first requirement was straightforward:

“Deposit 0.4 ETH to activate the bot.”

It seemed like a small price to pay for a tool that promised significant returns. I complied without hesitation, eager to see the bot in action.

The Second Demand: “Minimum Balance Needed”

Not long after, the Telegram support team messaged me again:

“The bot requires a minimum balance of 0.8 ETH to run efficiently. Please deposit an additional 0.4 ETH.”

This request caught me off guard, but their reasoning sounded plausible. They explained that the Ethereum network required a baseline amount for smart contracts to operate smoothly.

At this stage, I had already invested 0.4 ETH and walking away seemed like a waste. My mind rationalized the situation:

• “I’m already halfway there. Another 0.4 ETH is worth it.”
• “Once I hit the minimum, the bot will start generating returns.”

With this flawed logic driving me, I sent 0.42 ETH, bringing my total investment to 0.82 ETH.

The Third Demand: “The Bot Has Been Upgraded”

For the next six days, I saw small amounts of ETH appearing in my wallet. These “profits,” ranging from 0.0234 ETH to 0.0237 ETH, gave me hope that the bot was working. They reassured me that I was on the right track.

Then came the next message:

“The MEV Bot has been upgraded! To activate the upgrade and continue earning, you need to deposit 1 ETH.”

This demand felt bigger, heavier. I paused for the first time and asked myself, “Why wasn’t this mentioned earlier?” But before I could process my doubts, the scammers hit me with their well-rehearsed script:

• “This upgrade will unlock even higher profits.”
• “Most users are upgrading to maximize returns.”
• “Act now to avoid missing out.”

They knew exactly how to manipulate my emotions. I had already invested 0.82 ETH and seen small returns. The thought of walking away and losing everything pushed me to comply.

On June 11, 2024, I sent 1.05 ETH, bringing my total investment to 1.87 ETH.

The Fourth Demand: “The PRO Version”

With my confidence hanging on by a thread, the Telegram team delivered their next blow:

“To withdraw your earnings, you need the PRO version of the bot. The cost is 0.45 ETH.”

This demand hit differently. By now, I had invested nearly 2 ETH, yet I couldn’t access any of my “profits.” The PRO version was presented as the final step, the key to unlocking everything I had earned.

I hesitated. Something about the situation felt increasingly suspicious. But the scammers knew how to exploit my fear of loss. They reminded me of the money I’d already invested:

“You’ve come so far. The PRO version is just a small step to complete the process.”

Desperate to recover my funds, I transferred 0.45 ETH, raising my total investment to 2.32 ETH.

The Endless Excuses

After upgrading to the so-called PRO version, I expected to withdraw my earnings. But instead of success, I was met with a new wave of excuses and delays:

• “We’re launching a new dashboard to track earnings. It will be ready by October 2024.”
• “A minor technical error needs to be resolved. Please be patient.”
• “To access your funds, you need to create a new smart contract and deposit 1 ETH to merge the balances.”

Each explanation felt more absurd than the last, but by this point, I was emotionally and financially drained. I wanted to believe that one final payment could unlock my funds, but deep down, I began to sense the truth: there was no bot, no dashboard and no profits.

The Psychology of Repeated Demands

The scammers’ strategy was painfully effective. They didn’t ask for a large sum upfront. Instead, they broke their demands into smaller increments that felt manageable:

• 0.4 ETH to activate the bot.
• 0.4 ETH to meet the minimum balance.
• 1 ETH for the upgrade.
• 0.45 ETH for the PRO version.

Each demand was framed as “the final step,” making it harder for me to walk away. I fell victim to what’s known as the sunk cost fallacy - the belief that I had to keep going because I’d already invested so much.

“I’ve come this far. I can’t stop now.”

The scammers knew this and exploited it perfectly.

The Realization

The final demand - creating a new contract and depositing 1 ETH - was the breaking point. By this time, I had invested over 2.32 ETH and I had nothing to show for it. My trust in the Telegram team had finally eroded.

When I pushed back and refused to comply, their responses grew vague and dismissive. Soon after, they stopped replying altogether.

It was then that the harsh truth hit me:

• The MEV Bot was a lie.
• The smart contract was a trap.
• The Telegram support team was a group of scammers, manipulating me with fake promises and emotional tricks.

I had been bled dry.

Lessons Learned

This chapter of the scam taught me some of the hardest lessons of my life:

• Small Demands Add Up: Scammers use incremental requests to drain your funds without raising alarms.
• Red Flags Shouldn’t Be Ignored: Additional payments and vague excuses are clear signs of fraud.
• Know When to Walk Away: Don’t let previous investments blind you to the truth. The more you give, the harder it becomes to stop.
• Trust Your Instincts: If something feels off, it probably is. Pause, research and reassess before proceeding.

A Painful Truth

The repeated demands weren’t about unlocking a bot or a dashboard - they were about keeping me hooked. The scammers understood human psychology and used it to their advantage, turning my trust, hope and fear of loss into weapons against me.

By the time I realized what was happening, I had already given them everything.

The Next Phase

The scammers had taken over 2.32 ETH from me, but their deception didn’t stop there. What followed was a string of broken promises and the illusion of a dashboard that never came.