Purgatory's Reign of Terror: Cybercrime Crew Turning Chaos into Cash

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A frantic 911 call hits the University of Arkansas: a gunman's rampaging through Mullins Library, gunfire echoing, screams piercing the line.

Students barricade doors, hearts racing, convinced death is seconds away. Parents grip phones, imagining their kids hunted in hallways. SWAT teams swarm, fingers on triggers, one twitch from tragedy.

It was all a hoax—crafted by Purgatory, a ruthless cybercrime crew profiting from panic.

And they're not done. "Yes. 2 months," their leader, alias "Gores," told WIRED with chilling nonchalance.

This isn't teenage mischief. It's organized terror-for-hire, targeting schools, homes, and institutions.

Purgatory promises more lockdowns, more fear—and it's already cashing in.

Who Is Purgatory?

You think you know purgatory from Catholic teaching — a place of purification after death. But don’t confuse that with Purgatory, the shadowy cybercrime crew now promising to dominate headlines for months to come.

Born from the shadows of The Com—a sprawling underground empire peddling swatting, sextortion, and child exploitation—Purgatory strips away the mysticism.

The Com hides behind apocalyptic rants about creating a new world order called the "Galactic Imperium."

The dream of coming societal collapse – a collapse they hope to speedily usher in – where earthlings beg, shout, and cry for a world savior.

Most dark-web criminals thrive in the shadows.

Purgatory on the other hand? Purgatory thrives in the spotlight.

They're the enforcers, ditching ideology to sow raw disruption.

They recruit on Telegram and Discord, not with membership forms, but with boastful accomplishments to lure sickos into their fold. And to join their demented club, all one has to do is prove their worth by hacking, scamming, or swatting.

Purgatory craves the spotlight. Bragging about exploits is their marketing strategy. Every headline is essentially free promotion, attracting clients who pay for the pandemonium.

Their goal: erode trust in America's pillars—schools, police, communities—one fake emergency at a time.

The Chaos Business

Purgatory operates like a slick business economy. Their services are priced like a menu at a twisted drive-thru.

· Basic bare-bones swatting, $20–$50. It’s enough to call the cops. But no frills.

· Standard ($95): Target a school with AI-faked screams, $95.

· High-stakes hits on airports, hospitals, or casinos, with elaborate scripts that drain resources and spark mass hysteria, $200-$500.

They boast $100,000 in earnings, not from one big score but volume: cheap home swats, fake campus attacks, premium options.

Media coverage?

That's their billboard, screaming: "We deliver disruption. Hire us."

But here's an even darker twist: analysts see foreign intelligence fingerprints. Cash from abroad funds increases disruption. For a rival nation, it's bargain-bin warfare—crippling infrastructure without firing a shot.

The Human Toll

Purgatory's price tags mask the wreckage.

At the University of Arkansas last month, the fake swatting event triggered 300+ non-emergency calls and an additional thirty-eight 911 calls.

Students huddled in fear for hours. Parents endured nightmares of possible loss. Cops from 15 agencies raced in, primed for violence.

For everyone involved, the trauma will linger. Imagine your child's school locked down—or your own home raided by armed officers.

Swatting has killed before: in 2017, Tyler Barriss's hoax in Kansas ended with police fatally shooting an innocent dad on his porch. He got 20 years.

Every Purgatory call risks the same—a panic that can spiral into bloodshed. It's not abstract. These hoaxes could hit your neighborhood, your family, and only for pocket change.

Chaos isn't just a service; it's a scar on survivors.

Why It's Escalating Beyond Mischief

Police chiefs scratch their heads: why risk prison for $95?

But in Purgatory's world, clout trumps cash. A "successful" swat earns status, attracting bigger clients. Mix in geopolitical puppets, and it's no longer pranks—it's a weapon.

From August 21 to August 25, at least ten universities across the United States were plunged into chaos.

Depending on their target, Purgatory’s cheap proxy army could paralyze hospitals, airports, sporting events, and government buildings.

Purgatory is The Com's dream weapon of having society begging for a savior.

It’s ideology by action, not by words.

And as law enforcement lags, swatters vanish behind VPNs, VoIP, AI voices, and burners, says John Cohen, the executive director for the Countering Hybrid Threats Program at the Center for Internet Security and a former Department of Homeland Security official, told the NY Post:

"Criminals evolve at internet speed. Law enforcement operates in dialogue."

Subpoenas take days; hoaxes adapt in seconds. Swatting's already a federal crime—up to five years for a basic swat. Twenty if someone gets injured. And life if deadly.

The laws exist. But catching them doesn't.

A Path Forward: Time for a Federal Anti-Scam Bureau

We can't wait for more tragedies. Congress must launch a Federal Anti-Scam Bureau— a dedicated force against this digital plague. Not just swatting, but sextortion preying on teens, romance scams fleecing seniors, and AI phishing that fools us all.

This bureau would:

· Build tech to crack VPNs, trace spoofed calls, and raid encrypted lairs.

· Deploy rapid-response teams to spot hoaxes before SWAT deploys.

· Laser-focus on scams, freeing the FBI and DHS from overload.

Cohen nails it: deter groups like Purgatory by identifying, arresting, and prosecuting. Without modern tools, we're outpaced. With this bureau, we fight back at internet speed—and shut down the chaos economy.

Unmasking the Shadows

Purgatory is no myth. It's a real threat, profiting from our fear, vowing months more mayhem.

But knowledge is power. My book, When Evil Stops Hiding (out early October), uncovers the full web: Purgatory, The Com, 764, and the forces tearing society apart.

It's 136 pages of hard-hitting insight into how these networks thrive—and how we stop them.

Join the resistance: Yearly subscribers to this Substack get a free copy of the book, plus 12 months of exclusive reporting on hidden dangers.

Even if you cancel later, the book's yours. Together, we demand Congress act—before Purgatory's next call hits home.

Subscribe today as a yearly member. Get your free book, arm yourself with truth, and help build a safer America.

Martin Mawyer is the President of Christian Action Network and host of the “Shout Out Patriots” podcast. Follow him for more action alerts, cultural commentary, and real-world campaigns defending faith, family, and freedom.