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Fucked Up College Kids File 157
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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
playing on his stereo. [Why indeed..] he pondered, typing away at his
keyboard. The young man hunched over forming words out of keystrokes,
sipping his Safeway Select Diet Cola. Wet hair hung down onto his
shoulders as he thought of what he did. Twelve Forty Nine was the time
on the neon clock across the room, next to the lava lamp. On the opposite
speaker sat his electric globe, just below his '1A switch clock'.
The stereo played on, oblivious to the television next to it
snowcrashing past the channels last broadcast. Minicom loaded on his
computer, and randomly dialed one of the many numbers in his database.
It randomly selected the Water Conservation Commission's home computer
and connected. [Login Password Delete_Log Rlogin Connect Run_Script]
He sighed waiting for the script to run, hiding his movement on the system
beyond what he had done. Seconds passed and his prompt re-appeared, waiting
to take his commands. [Mail Plans Forty_One_Minutes] Another script
and his mail came on screen, automatically filtering his mail into seperate
categories [Mail_lists Admins Personal Secure].
A white box appeared on his screen as the mail transfered to his
own system. He opened another window on his machine and checked one of
his other processes. Four new carriers had been found since he last checked
his logs. A third window opened and he checked another process. Eighty
three new accounts on secops.ai.mil and surely more to come. [Ironic
'secops' so unsecure] Twenty Four minutes left.
Twenty two minutes away, he would just make it. He crossed through
an intersection and looked down at his dash. [No Attention Tonight]
He picked up his cell phone and speed dialed number forty one. Two clicks
after he connected he heard the first ring. [Third_Line Scanning
Mail_Check] "But beware... of those angels with their wings glued on.."
blasted in the background. "There in 20" and he hung up, accelerating
a little more. His turn for drinks this week before he made his first
pick up. He grabbed his oki and dialed *-#-*-5 and the phone went to
work, tumbling against the unseen cell tower nearby. Ten seconds later
and the phone had reprogrammed itself with five new numbers.
Half watching the road he plugged his cell into the laptop nestled
between the front seats, and hit a button. He powered on and watched
the boot sequence out of the corner of his eye. [Volume_Up System_OK
Auto_Load Dial] The laptop took command of the phone and dialed a preset
sequence, paused, dialed another number, paused, dialed a third number,
paused, and carrier. [Connect Login Execute_Script_7] He had worked
on the script for twenty minutes earlier this night. It connected
to a DMS10 downtown and logged in before it began its code. [Eight_Minutes
Pick_Up] Maintenance was running on the switch slowing his commands down,
but it didn't matter. He was on schedule, and the script completed
flawlessly.
He parked the modified suburban on the side of the Conoco and jumped
out. [Secure] A flick of his keychain and the vehicle armed itself, barely
audible over the noise of the gas station. [Beer Diet_Coke Snapple Chips]
One by one he set the large bottles on the counter along with the chips.
The twenty one year old pulled out his ID/Debit card and handed it to
the cashier. He watched the display on the register, and the flash of
numbers crossed quickly. [Authorized It_Worked] The bag of snacks was
pretty heavy, but he silently thanked the mayor for funding this little
stop. His own debit number had not crossed a register in months.
Five minutes later, he picked up the first.
The two young men sped down the highway, one driving, the other
typing away. One laptop between the seats, the other in the passenger's
lap. Two cells sat in a custom holder, both hooked up to their respective
computers. Imbetween the seat was a thief, stealing proprietary source
code to a new version of a popular O/S used by many commercial net providers.
The machine on the lap was a trespasser, going deeper into a USWest security
vax, sorting through the information contained on the drives.
Another half hour would pass before they rendezvoused with the other
three members of their group. Collectively, they had spent over a year
planning this night out, rehearsing it in their minds, covering any and
all possibilities for what might occur. They were each specialists in
one field or another. Each played their part on every excursion away from
their homes.
[Windy Good_Cover Almost_Time] Eyes closed, the driver of the
jeep bounced his head with the beat of the music. The passenger looked
out over the rolling hills in front of him through his binoculars.
Depressing a button on the top of the lenses, the view shifted to night-scope
and he surveyed the land again. His mind navigated hundreds of ways
to approach the compound, weeding out unsecure paths.
In the back seat sat the fifth individual, resting, silently
singing to the song on the stereo. ["they present dangers untold, and
the secrets are mine to hold..."] The song filtered to the back of his
mind as he went through the list of equipment in his head. Triple checking
each item in his backpack. He knew only of half the obstacle he would
have to get through, but he was confident it would happen. [We're too
good not to do this.]
Suburban met jeep at the top of the hill, all lights out as it
moved in next to the jeep. Slowly, the last of the antennae's on the
suburban slowed to a stop, and the two vehicles emptied. Five men stood
on the hill and looked out at the compound below them. Unmanned, but
still a difficult target. [The risk was worth it]
A hacker. A phreak. A B&E expert. A strategist. A social engineer.
They each specialized in one area, yet knew more than most in the others.
The B&E expert led the way down the hill, the other four following ten paces
behind. [Private_Property Bullshit] The group passed three signs warning
the property they were on was private, warning of dangers that lay beyond.
Three days had passed, all of the individuals remained untouched
by the law. The police were too busy handling the riots that had ensued
after the release of the stolen information. It would take weeks before
anyone tracked down how it had happened, and would probably never get
as far as discovering who had done it.
"Some information wants to be free" typed across the screen.
One last stroke across the keyboard and the message went out to millions
of people that had been reading about the recent events.
-DisordeR
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, etc etc... =
= Internet : jericho@netcom.com (Mail is welcome) =
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= Gote Land +27.31.441115 =
= Arrested Development +31.77.3547477 =
= Chemical Persuasion 203.324.0894 Celestial Woodlands 214.252.6455 =
= Goat Blowers Anon 215.750.0392 Hacker's Haven 303.343.4053 =
= E.L.F. (NUP) 314.272.3426 Misery 318.625.4532 =
= Dungeon Sys. Inc. 410.263.2258 Psykodelik Images 407.834.4576 =
= Paradise Lost 414.476.3181 Black SunShine 513.891.3465 =
= underworld_1995.com 514.683.1894 Digital Fallout 516.378.6640 =
= PSYCHOSiS 613.836.7211 Bad Trip 615.870.8805 =
= Plan 9 716.881.3663 suicidal chaos 718.592.1083 =
= Phallic Paradise 801.944.7353 Purple Hell 806.791.0747 =
= Atrocity Exhibition 905.796.3385 The Keg 914.234.9674 =
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= Files through Anonymous FTP: FTP.NETCOM.COM - /pub/je/jericho/FUCK =
= FTP.FC.NET - /pub/deadkat/misc/FUCK =
= FTP.WINTERNET.COM - /users/craigb/fuck =
= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT - /pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
= ETEXT.ARCHIVE.UMICH.EDU - /pub/Zines/FUCK =
= http://www.ora.com:8080/johnl/e-zine-list/zines/fuck.html =
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