144 lines
8.8 KiB
Plaintext
144 lines
8.8 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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A Higher Purpose
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"Why do we, crucify ourselves..." he thought along to the song
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playing on his stereo. [Why indeed..] he pondered, typing away at his
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keyboard. The young man hunched over forming words out of keystrokes,
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sipping his Safeway Select Diet Cola. Wet hair hung down onto his
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shoulders as he thought of what he did. Twelve Forty Nine was the time
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on the neon clock across the room, next to the lava lamp. On the opposite
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speaker sat his electric globe, just below his '1A switch clock'.
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The stereo played on, oblivious to the television next to it
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snowcrashing past the channels last broadcast. Minicom loaded on his
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computer, and randomly dialed one of the many numbers in his database.
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It randomly selected the Water Conservation Commission's home computer
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and connected. [Login Password Delete_Log Rlogin Connect Run_Script]
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He sighed waiting for the script to run, hiding his movement on the system
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beyond what he had done. Seconds passed and his prompt re-appeared, waiting
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to take his commands. [Mail Plans Forty_One_Minutes] Another script
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and his mail came on screen, automatically filtering his mail into seperate
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categories [Mail_lists Admins Personal Secure].
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A white box appeared on his screen as the mail transfered to his
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own system. He opened another window on his machine and checked one of
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his other processes. Four new carriers had been found since he last checked
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his logs. A third window opened and he checked another process. Eighty
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three new accounts on secops.ai.mil and surely more to come. [Ironic
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'secops' so unsecure] Twenty Four minutes left.
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Twenty two minutes away, he would just make it. He crossed through
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an intersection and looked down at his dash. [No Attention Tonight]
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He picked up his cell phone and speed dialed number forty one. Two clicks
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after he connected he heard the first ring. [Third_Line Scanning
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Mail_Check] "But beware... of those angels with their wings glued on.."
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blasted in the background. "There in 20" and he hung up, accelerating
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a little more. His turn for drinks this week before he made his first
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pick up. He grabbed his oki and dialed *-#-*-5 and the phone went to
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work, tumbling against the unseen cell tower nearby. Ten seconds later
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and the phone had reprogrammed itself with five new numbers.
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Half watching the road he plugged his cell into the laptop nestled
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between the front seats, and hit a button. He powered on and watched
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the boot sequence out of the corner of his eye. [Volume_Up System_OK
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Auto_Load Dial] The laptop took command of the phone and dialed a preset
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sequence, paused, dialed another number, paused, dialed a third number,
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paused, and carrier. [Connect Login Execute_Script_7] He had worked
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on the script for twenty minutes earlier this night. It connected
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to a DMS10 downtown and logged in before it began its code. [Eight_Minutes
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Pick_Up] Maintenance was running on the switch slowing his commands down,
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but it didn't matter. He was on schedule, and the script completed
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flawlessly.
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He parked the modified suburban on the side of the Conoco and jumped
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out. [Secure] A flick of his keychain and the vehicle armed itself, barely
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audible over the noise of the gas station. [Beer Diet_Coke Snapple Chips]
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One by one he set the large bottles on the counter along with the chips.
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The twenty one year old pulled out his ID/Debit card and handed it to
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the cashier. He watched the display on the register, and the flash of
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numbers crossed quickly. [Authorized It_Worked] The bag of snacks was
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pretty heavy, but he silently thanked the mayor for funding this little
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stop. His own debit number had not crossed a register in months.
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Five minutes later, he picked up the first.
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The two young men sped down the highway, one driving, the other
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typing away. One laptop between the seats, the other in the passenger's
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lap. Two cells sat in a custom holder, both hooked up to their respective
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computers. Imbetween the seat was a thief, stealing proprietary source
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code to a new version of a popular O/S used by many commercial net providers.
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The machine on the lap was a trespasser, going deeper into a USWest security
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vax, sorting through the information contained on the drives.
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Another half hour would pass before they rendezvoused with the other
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three members of their group. Collectively, they had spent over a year
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planning this night out, rehearsing it in their minds, covering any and
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all possibilities for what might occur. They were each specialists in
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one field or another. Each played their part on every excursion away from
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their homes.
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[Windy Good_Cover Almost_Time] Eyes closed, the driver of the
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jeep bounced his head with the beat of the music. The passenger looked
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out over the rolling hills in front of him through his binoculars.
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Depressing a button on the top of the lenses, the view shifted to night-scope
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and he surveyed the land again. His mind navigated hundreds of ways
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to approach the compound, weeding out unsecure paths.
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In the back seat sat the fifth individual, resting, silently
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singing to the song on the stereo. ["they present dangers untold, and
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the secrets are mine to hold..."] The song filtered to the back of his
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mind as he went through the list of equipment in his head. Triple checking
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each item in his backpack. He knew only of half the obstacle he would
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have to get through, but he was confident it would happen. [We're too
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good not to do this.]
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Suburban met jeep at the top of the hill, all lights out as it
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moved in next to the jeep. Slowly, the last of the antennae's on the
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suburban slowed to a stop, and the two vehicles emptied. Five men stood
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on the hill and looked out at the compound below them. Unmanned, but
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still a difficult target. [The risk was worth it]
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A hacker. A phreak. A B&E expert. A strategist. A social engineer.
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They each specialized in one area, yet knew more than most in the others.
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The B&E expert led the way down the hill, the other four following ten paces
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behind. [Private_Property Bullshit] The group passed three signs warning
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the property they were on was private, warning of dangers that lay beyond.
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Three days had passed, all of the individuals remained untouched
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by the law. The police were too busy handling the riots that had ensued
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after the release of the stolen information. It would take weeks before
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anyone tracked down how it had happened, and would probably never get
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as far as discovering who had done it.
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"Some information wants to be free" typed across the screen.
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One last stroke across the keyboard and the message went out to millions
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of people that had been reading about the recent events.
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-DisordeR
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, etc etc... =
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= Internet : jericho@netcom.com (Mail is welcome) =
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Gote Land +27.31.441115 =
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= Arrested Development +31.77.3547477 =
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= Chemical Persuasion 203.324.0894 Celestial Woodlands 214.252.6455 =
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= Goat Blowers Anon 215.750.0392 Hacker's Haven 303.343.4053 =
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= E.L.F. (NUP) 314.272.3426 Misery 318.625.4532 =
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= Dungeon Sys. Inc. 410.263.2258 Psykodelik Images 407.834.4576 =
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= Paradise Lost 414.476.3181 Black SunShine 513.891.3465 =
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= underworld_1995.com 514.683.1894 Digital Fallout 516.378.6640 =
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= PSYCHOSiS 613.836.7211 Bad Trip 615.870.8805 =
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= Plan 9 716.881.3663 suicidal chaos 718.592.1083 =
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= Phallic Paradise 801.944.7353 Purple Hell 806.791.0747 =
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= Atrocity Exhibition 905.796.3385 The Keg 914.234.9674 =
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Files through Anonymous FTP: FTP.NETCOM.COM - /pub/je/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.FC.NET - /pub/deadkat/misc/FUCK =
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= FTP.WINTERNET.COM - /users/craigb/fuck =
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= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT - /pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
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= ETEXT.ARCHIVE.UMICH.EDU - /pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= http://www.ora.com:8080/johnl/e-zine-list/zines/fuck.html =
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