The page someone opens from an alert text: one tap to say how they are, a precise location, your own questions, live updates from the operator, and optional live location sharing. No app, no login.
Triaging someone by SMS used to take three round trips — are you safe?, then where are you?, then what do you need? — with a person in trouble typing on a phone in the dark, and every leg costing segments in both directions. The response page collapses that into one screen. The alert text carries a short personal link; tapping it opens a page that asks everything at once and sends it in a single submission.
There is no login, no app and no captcha. The link itself is the credential, and it's bound to one person on one alert.
The page opens in your organisation's own branding — your colours, your logo, your wording — so it reads as coming from you and not from a stranger. Under that:
The last four digits of their own mobile number are shown at the top. It's the one piece of information that proves the message really is about them, and it's deliberately the only personal detail on the page — the link arrived by text, and phones get lost, shared and forwarded.
The page asks the phone for a satellite fix, which is far better than anything a person can type under pressure — and it drops them onto the operator's map as a pin with an accuracy figure attached. If they refuse the browser prompt, or their phone can't get a fix, they can describe where they are instead and that goes to the operator as text.
If you've enabled it on the form, the page offers to keep sharing. Accepting streams their position roughly every fifteen seconds, so the operator watches them move out of a building rather than dispatching to a pin from four minutes ago.
The page also holds the screen awake by itself while it's open. Everything it does to keep somebody informed — the liveness poll, the update flash, the chime — stops the instant the screen locks, and the realistic reader taps the link, reads it, and puts the phone down. If their battery is critically low, the page warns them.
The page is not a form that's finished when you press send — it stays live for the whole incident. Operator updates appear on it as they're sent: an action update flashes the page and sounds a chime, an info update arrives quietly. The five most recent are shown, newest first.
Each one records who has actually seen it, per person, the moment their page renders it. That's a read receipt for an emergency instruction — a number SMS structurally cannot produce, and one that changes what an operator knows about whether their message landed.
Go to Settings → Response page. A form is a reusable question set you build before an incident, with a live preview of the real page beside it — the preview renders the same page a recipient will see, so what you approve is what they get.
Questions can be conditional — "Are you injured?" need only appear for someone who said they need help. And an answer can carry a priority hint, so choosing "trapped" raises the resulting distress case to immediate without an operator having to read the words first.
whoot.me/r/ plus a twelve-character token is 23 characters — the difference between a typical alert body fitting in one billable segment and spilling into two.whoot.me or alrt.uk today, with tenant-owned domains to come. The choice is snapshotted per alert, so changing it mid-incident never breaks links already sent.If a recipient hasn't opened their link within your fallback delay — three minutes by default, set in Settings → General — the original SMS triage questions go out to them automatically. Nobody is left un-triaged because their data connection failed, and this is why the SMS path has never been removed.