521 lines
22 KiB
Plaintext
521 lines
22 KiB
Plaintext
From ae687@FreeNet.Carleton.CA Tue Apr 5 19:27:07 EDT 1994
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Article: 3253 of alt.zines
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Newsgroups: alt.cyberspace,alt.zines
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Path: news.cic.net!magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!math.ohio-state.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!torn!nott!cunews!freenet.carleton.ca!FreeNet.Carleton.CA!ae687
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From: ae687@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Billy Biggs)
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Subject: Line Noiz issue 13 - March 31
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Message-ID: <Cnt6Iy.3s4@freenet.carleton.ca>
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Sender: news@freenet.carleton.ca
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Reply-To: ae687@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Billy Biggs)
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Organization: The National Capital FreeNet
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Date: Tue, 5 Apr 1994 22:59:21 GMT
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Lines: 504
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Xref: news.cic.net alt.cyberspace:5126 alt.zines:3253
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BEGIN LINE_NOIZ.13
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I S S U E - ! # M A R C H 3 1 , 1 9 9 4
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>LiNE NOiZ< >LiNE NOiZ<
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[] ( { { /\/\/\ : : /~~\ = ! @ # $ %
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][ ) {{ { \ ;; ; | | + &
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[] ( { { { /\/ : : : | | = *
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][ ) { {{ \ ; ;; | | + (
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[][][] ( { { /\/\/\ : : \__/ = ) _ + / *
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CYbERPUNk I N f O R M A t i O N E - Z i N E
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------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* L i N E N O i Z *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
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I S S U E - ! # M A R C H 3 1 , 1 9 9 4
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: File !
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: Intro to Issue 13
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: Billy Biggs <ae687@freenet.carleton.ca>
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: File @
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: Square One - Part Three
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: ah804@freenet.carleton.ca (Kipp Lightburn)
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: File #
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: Tales of the Book Of Dreamscapes - Part 1
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: Vidar Hokstad <ppack@oslohd.no>
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: File $
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: Where Am I? - Parts 1, 2 & 3
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: Sayl <anonymous>
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: File %
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: Nibbles of Information
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: Billy Biggs <ae687@freenet.carleton.ca>
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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File - !
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This issue has evolved into an almost purely science-fiction content. I'm
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looking for more articles on current issues, please submit more opinions.
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Happy easter to all!
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-Billy Biggs, editor.
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***** N o T E ******
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- We have been experiencing problems with our subscription list. If you
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find that the following subscription instructions are not working then
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e-mail me at ae687@freenet.carleton.ca and I'll see what I can do....
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=-*-= Subscription Info =-*-=
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Subscriptions can be obtained by sending mail to: dodger@fubar.bk.psu.edu
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With the words: Subscription LineNoiz <your address>
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In the body of the letter.
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Back Issues can be recieved by sending mail to the same address with the
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words BACK ISSUES in the subject.
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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File - @
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From: ah804@freenet.carleton.ca (Kipp Lightburn)
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Square One - Part Three
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The beating siren and the rattle of medical supplies drowns
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out the sound of the paramedic's neck snapping. I cradle his weight
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and lower him onto the bloodied stretcher that nestled me.
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I can't go back. I know nothing about myself. My past isn't a
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blur, because there isn't an image to tamper with. There's nothing.
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The ambulance takes a sharp turn. I have to steady myself on
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my one good leg as I drag towards the rear. The driver, drowns in
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his own ignorance. My sporadic breathing plays with my rib cage as if
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it were a razor edged, tuning fork.
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The doors lend me leaning sanctuary. Out the back windows,
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the sight of morning spilling onto the city, looms. And traffic.
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We're riding down the spine of an eight lane highway. The ambulance
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is a white metal coffin immersed in the transom of morning rush hour.
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Ambulance.
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Hospital. The reason for the paramedic's death. I tell
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myself it wasn't instinct. It wasn't a programmed response to the
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smell of my own blood. I force myself to believe it was self
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defense. He was one of the couriers delivering the package of my
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flesh. I agree with myself.
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There's one more. Adrenaline overrides thought. Body
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controls mind. Instinct rules over logic. One of the guard rails
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is torn from the stretcher as the driver falls into view. I clutch
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my new weapon with a dazed grin. My body ignores my conscience.
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The sound of my leg dragging along the floor pulls him from
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his submerged bliss. He sees me. Sees my weapon of choice for this
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kill. Confusion, fear, and horror, etch themselves elaborately into
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his body language. Blood. I memorize the sight. Blood. The feel.
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Blood. The emotion. Blood. The exhilaration.
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I crave memories.
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The ambulance begins to sway. This chariot's guiding angel
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is dead, and the horses that pull it can smell the killing of fear.
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I heave myself to the rear again. I toss the guard rail to the floor
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and hammer the doors open.
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This hurtling tomb opens and I'm slapped with the caress of
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cold, polluted air. The sports car in front of me swerves out of the
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lane, the driver looks at me frightened. Is that all? I'm hunted
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and feared?
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A car horn calls to me as a small grey convertible pulls
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itself behind the ambulance, matching speed. A bald man in the
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drivers seat watches me calmly, his passenger grabs the top of the
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windshield and stands up. Her face meeting the wind head on. Her
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face meeting the wind. Her face. Her.
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Her.
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The ambulance swerves nervously into a parallel lane. The calm
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man in the convertible, swerves in unison, as if he'd anticipated it.
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"Kyle!" Her hand motions for me to go to her. The same
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hand that clutched the gun at the hospital. "Come on Kyle!"
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And I stare at her. In a baffled trance I stare. I don't
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hear her anymore, I don't smell the stale air, I don't feel my ribcage
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contracting. I just see her calling, motioning. My mind won't let
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go. My body, which was once in control, now follows my mind's every
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whim.
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Arm outstretched, I lean forward out the back of the
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ambulance. Gravity, my master now, tugs at me. Like a sack of wet
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gravel I collide with the hood of the convertible
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For the first time it hits me with a scream. Pain. The
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toxins which held back the side effects of my damage lift like a cage
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door. Pain comes howling out of its dark cell with a vengeance. I
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scream. I'm pulled off of the hood and thrown into the back seat.
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I scream and scream. Her hand touches my face. Skin. Electric.
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Fire. I forget pain. I only know her. Only her.
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Her.
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--
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----------------------------------------------------------------
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|/ | [ email at ] -------------
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|\IPP |_IGHTBURN [ ah804@freenet.carleton.ca ] -------------
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-------------------------------------------------------------
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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File - #
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From: ppack@oslohd.no (Vidar Hokstad)
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Tales of the Book Of Dreamscapes
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" He was a computer illiterate, a visionary without sight. A lucky
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strike, and an era of Cyberpunk rising. An era not yet ended..."
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001 / Glimpses of a distant future
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Dreamless nights in thousand came and went leaving nothing but a
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light scent of progress. Whatever progress really means. The formation
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of the stars had changed the night I woke from my state of euforia -
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thrown into a cold, unfriendly reality I shivered slightly, but
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couldn't take my eyes of the starry patterns that were my only light
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those first few seconds before the lights in the room were turned on,
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leaving it bathed in a weird glow much like that of a room with a TV-
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set as it's only source of light.
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Yes, the formations had changed for sure. I could no longer find
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The big dipper, or Orion, as if I cared. Still, I did not feel at ease.
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Perhaps was it the feeling that the night sky had darkened somewhat;
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that the stars had became fewer while I was asleep.
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- Who cares? I whispered to myself, before I drew my face away from
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the window. Walking back to the ancient computer-terminal to see if the
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error had yet been found, so that I could fix it, and once again return
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to sleep.
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I wondered what year it could be, but not even the Allmighty would
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be able to enlighten me on that question. Did it still exist a single
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clock at this point? Probably not. And if it did, there would be no
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hope of making it work. And once again: Why should I care?
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An hour, or so it felt, went by in silence, no progress were
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reported.
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Again I was drawn towards the window. Staring out over the
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landscape I could see several wounds. At least two or three were
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obviously caused by meteors. How long does it take to get the surface
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of a planet like earth so scarred?
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My life began long before 2000. I were one of the few to actually
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have read a book of paper, one of the few which still had memories of
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H.G.Wells and his fantasies on the nature of timetravel. Staring out at
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a deserted plain, I thought of his visions of a future without humans.
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He was not that wrong, although humanity still lived and prospered.
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How could he have understood the strange ways of reality? It took
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until the last decade of the second millenia before anyone as much as
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suggested anything close to the truth.
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The year was 1981 when I got my first computer. I was six, and the
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machine was a Vic 20. As time went by, both the computers and I grew
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bigger. It was not until 1993 I went online. Those first few years of
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my life had passed so slowly; they did almost float by like a lazy
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river on a hot summer day. The next few centuries were filled with
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action and exciting adventures. It took time before I settled down. A
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long time.
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At last the error was discovered. The errorcodes were familiar,
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only a powerfailure somewhere would cause such patterns. If I had not
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wanted so badly to return to my precious sleep, I should really have
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proposed a patch to the Allmighty, but did an hour or two awake every
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millenia or two hurt?
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It was probably the same thought that had kept those before me from
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fixing it before, so why should I be the one?
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- Hell. It's time for going to sleep, my inner voice reminded me,
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and I returned to my chamber.
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---
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* ppack@oslohd.no (The Powerpack)
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---
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BTW: I would really appreciate comments, but only by *E-MAIL* - please
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do *not* assume that i read alt.cyber* 'cause I haven't got the
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possibility to do so at present...
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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File - $
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WHERE AM I?
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By Sayl
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PART I
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Date: Agust 2nd, 2026 Time: 24:03 ST
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----------------------------------------
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Link-up in process . . . . . . .
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Complete
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----------------------------------------
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Enter External Passcode Now:
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* * * - * - * *
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Processing . . . . . . .
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Access Approved
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----------------------------------------
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ComTech Internation Systems Headquarter
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System Status
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Ext. Locks --- ON
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Int. Locks --- ON
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Sys. Der --- OFF
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ICS --- ON
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ISR --- ON
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ESR --- OFF
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----------------------------------------
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Name: T. J. Thomas
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Interior Passcode:
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* * * - * * * - * - **
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Processing . . . . . . .
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ACCESS DENIED
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Interior Passcode:
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* * * - * * * - * - **
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Processing . . . . . . .
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ACCESS DENIED
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Interior Passcode:
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* * * - * * * - * - **
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ACCESS DENIED
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### ICS ENGAGE ###
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@#!$^ ()@&&#* __+_#()&hlia*!)ND9(@MH
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Link-up Terminated
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Link-up 345 Progtram . . . DELETED
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Link-up 345 Backups . . . DELETED
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BEGIN SYSTEM DESTRUCTION
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"Damn!" Jon exclaimed as he watched in horror as the ICS's destroyed his
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computer's soft and most of it's hardware. He knew it wouldn't be easy
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salvaging what the ICS's left him. Pulling the plug was useless seeing as
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they had allready written themselves into the perms of his hardrive. But
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the fact that his computer was slowly being obliterated was not what Jon was
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so mad about, he had paid good money to get that informant to talk. Infact it
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had cost him nearly 11,000 credits to get the Exterior Passcode, even more to
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find out the Interior. His system, now being destroyed, had some of the most
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complicated Jacking Software Jon could get. Yet every now and again Jon's
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programes couldn't enter into a system, forcing Jon to rely on informants,
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most of which very expensive. But now that the Interior Computer Security
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Virus was in he knew he could never get it out.
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It was about 1:30 in the morning, an hour and a half after Jon's little
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experience, when he found himself in a place he frequented called Jones'. A
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run-down little bar, Jones' was considered high standard by those of lesser
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inteligence. Jon ordered his usual scotch on the rox, when they showed up,
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three men wearing black uniforms, Police. Could they really have found me by
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now! Jon's thoughts raced through his head as the men inched their way towards
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him.
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"You there," one of the officers began, "are you Jon Da . . ."
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The officer never finished his sentence. With a crackling blue flash Jon
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impaled his phaseknife into the officer's chest and moved in for the others.
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But then he felt it, the burning of his own flesh, a sharp laser blast to his
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right arm, and everything went black.
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PART 2
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Sally disconected from the matrix, her normal vision beginning to come
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back. She got up from her chair and went to the backdoor of her ground floor
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pad. She unlocked verbally, allowing the sunshine to be filtered in,
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temporarily blinding her. She walked out into the ally. Looking around, she
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mentally checked a flower box beside her door. Dead, she thought to herself.
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"HALT!"
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"Oh shit..." Sally cussed under her breath, "...you've got nothing on me
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copper."
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She turned around slowly, her arms raised, to find the muzzle of a 9mm
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RDF laser pistol staring her down.
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"The hell I don't..." the copped showed a small PortoCam in his hand,
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"...it's all right here, BETA ZERO NINER...This is Watcom 7ty6 Over"
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"Roger Watcom 7ty6 go ahead" a woman's voice answered from his wrist.
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"HQ, I've got a J39-107, and possibly a HA-255, ID Request Over"
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"Request approved, begin when ready Watcom 7ty6"
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He replaced the PortoCam in his pocket and took out a small slad of
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blackness, the only thing visible on it's surface was a glowing red dot. The
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cop cautiously sqawted down and slid it to Sally's feet.
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"Pick it up and place your right thumb on the red dot," Sally didn't
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budge, "NOW BITCH!"
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Sally slowly bent over careful to give the cop a good view of her
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abundant chest, which her halter didn't quite cover modestly. She picked the
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slab up.
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"Now put your thumb on the RED dot"
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She did so. Immediately she felt a slight pain, a needle the size of a
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human hair pluged in for the DNA that would identify not only her, but worse,
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her record. Now there was a new sensation, a slight tingling, as the bleeding
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that would occur was stopped chemicaly.
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"Ok good now slide it back gently," Sally complied and bent down once
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again but while sliding it let one of the straps keeping her top up slide off
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her shoulder, then on the way up the other slid in accordance. She, now bare
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breasted, began to approach the cop as he stared piggishly.
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"Watcom 7ty6, this is BETA ZERO NINER Id Confirmed, suspect is SALLY
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DAVIDSON, AKA The Watchdog, Suspect is a known felon and was arrested for
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J39-107 and HA-255 but escaped before trial, Suspect IS dangerous and to be
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approached with extreme caution, Over"
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"R...r...roger HQ, M...making...ar...r...rest"
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Sally was now only a foot away, she brushed her flowing blond hair out of
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her face and moved to kiss him. She brought her knee up and heard his testical
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burst, he screamed in pain and immediatly fell to the ground. Sally grabbed
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his gun and silenced him.
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"Watcom 7ty6 Report, repeat Watcom 7ty6 Report, Watcom 7ty6 Do you read
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me?" The comunicater's noise faded as she dashed inside her house. They'll be
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here any minute! Shit, Shit, Shit! Her heart pounded as she restored her
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halter's position and rapidly packed a small yet spacious backpack. Then,
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grabbing her credit card off her dresser, Sally ran to the front door.
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It swished open... All went dark.
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PART 3
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When he awoke Jon found himself in a dimly lit steel room roughly 5 feet
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square, in the corner he could make out the vague figure of another preson,
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but nothing else.
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"Where am I" Jon said softly, his wounds still burning.
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A woman's voice responded from the dark, "I know just as little as . . ."
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A door opened in the wall and light flooded the room, then he saw her,
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her features so beutifully defined, her abundance framed in long flowing blond
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hair.
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"You two come with me!" a harsh voice came from someone outside the door.
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Jon and the woman stood up and walked out. He found himself standing in a
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hallway lined with doors, ahead of them were stairs leading up. Waiting were
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three guards, each holding a laser pistol. In less than a second
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she had overpowered them all, leaving them dead on the floor.
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"Come On!". Witout question Jon followed her as they dashed for the
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stairs. Atop was an open door which the guards had lazzily forgotten to seal,
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presumably under-estimating the occupants capabilies. The door entered into
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the front office of the 5th precinct Police Sation. In a couple of seconds she
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had disposed of another police officer, sergeant, maybe capitan sitting at the
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front desk. She moved like a pro! As she ran for the front door Jon grabbed
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her arm.
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"WHAT THE HELL do you think your doing?"
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Before she could reply, Jon pointed to a small side door labeled
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"Evidence". With Jon in the lead they broke the lock and entered a small,
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dimly lit room.
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"There it is", she grabbed a backpack off a steel shelf at the back and
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searched through it. Jon took the liberty to reclaim and check his wallet.
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"So, what were you in for?" she questioned.
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"I tried my hand at the matrix, and got caught, Damn imformant screwed
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me. You?"
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"Jack and Hack, but nothing destructive."
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"That's what they all say." She puled the backpack over her shoulder.
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"I have a place that the cops don't know about, under a different name,
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and, well, your welcome to come if you want, and besi- did you say you
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were a pro or amature jacker?"
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"I didn't, but pro why?"
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"Well I need a good jacker, to try a new progr-"
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"Hey we can talk when we get to wherever your taking me, right now we
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have to get the hell out of here."
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"Let's go then."
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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File - %
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... n i b b l e s of information /by billy biggs
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o Internet site spot : Neato stuff to check out
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------------------
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LambdaMOO
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^^^^^^^^^^^
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Telnet: lambda.parc.xerox.com 8888
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Description: A nice big huge MUD (MOO). It's like a text-based virtual
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reality, actually it IS a text based virtual reality. One could spend
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hours exploring, and if you can get permission, hours and hours of
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building. An amazing place.
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------------------
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o The Music Review Corner : Reviews of stuff, old and new, bad and good...
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------------------
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Artist: Front 242 Date: 1993
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Album: 06:21:03:11 Up Evil Length:
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Review: A definate change for Front, Up Evil mixes traditional 242 electronic
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body music sounds with a more heavy metal feel. The addition of many
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electric guitar sounds (more annoying than musical) adds another depth
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to Front's sound. Up Evil is very busy with action, the sound cluttered
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with noise, music and vocals. Jean-Luc De Meyer's vocals range from
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loud screaming to a quiet roar, yet are always part of the music and not
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overshadowing it. Front 242 retains very instrumental qualities in their
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music showing off fancy computer tricks and experimenting with MIDI. The
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single from Up Evil, Religion, in my opinion is not an outstanding song.
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It's more experimental for Front, loud guitar samples, distorted vocals
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and a driving drum beat from hell. The album itself is a masterpiece in
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technology, variety and atmosphere. It can be listened to while one is busy
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doing something. The songs that stand out are Crapage, Skin, Motion and
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Melt.
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Erland Rating: + 2
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------------------
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From: jkettune@cs.joensuu.fi (Juha Kettunen)
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Artist: Advanced Art Date: 1994
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Album: FORCE Length: 9 tracks, 38 min
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Review: Too short. It's the only thing that's wrong with it. I want
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more!
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Description: Advanced Art are back with a "not-a-full-price" CD. It
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consists of three parts: 'Update' brings us 5 new excellent tracks,
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|
'Live' represents 2 live versions of 'PRODUCT' (the previous album)
|
|
tracks, and 'Retro' gives us a hint of the history of Advanced Art,
|
|
as it features 2 '94 mixes of their '87 and '86 demos which people
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|
have requested. So why are there so few new tracks? Are the boys
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|
losing their inspiration? _God_ I hope not. 'Update' is the usual
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|
Advanced Art, with even more aggressive rhythms and metallic sounds.
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|
The lyrics are as dark and pessimistic as those in 'PRODUCT'. One
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|
of them actually deals with cyberpunk, a future man who feds up with
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|
virtual sex in cyberspace and ends up a hospitalized pervert who
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|
wants FLESH. Other themes are the wickedness of human mind, the
|
|
unwillingness of people to face today's greatest problems, the
|
|
strange drive of wanting to hurt the ones you love, and the
|
|
attempted coup d'etat in Russia. The 'Live' versions are nice, but
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|
one gets the feeling that they're just stuffing of the otherwise so
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|
short CD. 'Retro' combines rough hardcore rhythms with strong synth
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|
melodies and 'real' singing. The lyrics are typical Advanced Art,
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|
pretended love and discontent of life in today's society. In short,
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'FORCE' gives you the taste of the usual excellent Advanced Art
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|
music, but doesn't satisfy you in full. I hope it's just meant to
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|
be something that makes the waiting of the the next full-length
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album easier!! On the scale from 1 to 3, I'd give 'PRODUCT' a 3
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while 'FORCE' would score a 3-.
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-Juha.
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------------------
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[ You think you can write a review too, then do so! ]
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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>> ALWAYS LOOKING FOR SUBMISSIONS
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<<
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>> PLEASE DISTRIBUTE THIS
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<<
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>> TiLL ISSUE 14
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END LINE_NOIZ.13
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--
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Billy Biggs Ottawa, Canada "When all else fails,
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ae687@Freenet.carleton.ca read the instructions"
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