A Retired Hacker's Life

The Truly Broken Lose Hope

2006-03-03T04:05:00.000-05:00

As I write I see the smoke in the distance...

Why I thought I could take the life I had made and keep it I've no clue. There were so many ends to cover. So much to lose if I fucked it up. In reflection I was trying to see life as already past, when I do what I've always done: looked at my past as something that was not my own. This perfect world I had built for myself... The job, the money, my beautiful daughter sitting safely in our home -- they were all just a dream world I had built for us. Now I sit in a cheap hotel that I paid for with a stolen credit card, leeching wireless from the cafe across the street on a laptop I plucked from a kid that made the mistake of trusting everyone... anyone. My child lays, eyes closed, on the only bed, dry tears chalking her face. My only gun sits a fraction of a second from my hand, the clip half-empty. My old nervous tick setting in every time I even think I hear a noise.

A child should never have to see someone die. Not her, not my innocent little girl. Not the brightest child I've ever known. My past life was so horrible, so rugged, so tense -- but the shock still hasn't warn off. The sirens are ringing all around. They found me, they found my life. The mafia is still around, no matter what anyone tells you. They're stronger than ever, more hidden than ever, and backed by people you'd never believe. They're no longer harsh, scarred old men with large guns... They're beautiful, kind, forgiving people that live next to you. They smile genuine smiles, they invite you over and sit up late at night talking with you about how life should be. They're dreamers, they're lovers, they're optimists, they're everything you'd think they weren't. They were normal... I was normal...

KOW! I heard it late last night. The unmistakeable exodus of a bullet from a high-caliber gun. The tale-tell sound of my best friend and personal chef's body hitting the floor. A peircing scream that burns my ears even now. A deep base shout; feet moving quickly. My name! Not my name, but my real name! I can't trick myself any longer into thinking someone just fell. Was I tricking myself? No. I already had the gun in my hand. I rounded the steps and felt that old, haunting recoil of the perfect shot. It all came back so quick. Anna knew exactly what to do. She ran without looking back. She knew who we were dealing with as she burst outside -- I watched her dark-brown hair flailing as she sped through the back yard and straight into the bushes. Instantly she stopped moving the second she slid behind them. I glanced away and then back. If I had not of seen her go, I'd never have found her. My bright little girl -- always thinking faster than you can plan for.

Bullets are everywhere!
It's all I could think as I cast myself back away from the upper loft. My face was instantly splintered with the wood of ammo-riddled walls. The screams of anger were all around me. One of them was me crying out for the sole person that knew my entire life's story lying lost in my... his kitchen. My old training of "two to the chest, one to the head" sends waves of sorrow through me. How I yearned to be as efficient as the army. In the end the constant repetition was simply another means to cater to my already swollen list of morbid dreams. I would not stay and fight. I am not a murderer. So I ran. I fired, counting out half the clip, then accepted my daughter into my arms as I pocketed my gun and sprinted towards the darkness of the yet-born morning.

This day I know I shall never regret staying in shape for the better portion of my life. I ran on, even as Anna fell limp in my arms, feigning a sleep I knew she would never find. The woods near the mountains are vast and deep... they could never have found us. She woke just as we were coming to the first side-walk. I had been darting through back-yards of a small sub-urban neighborhood... The first man I saw got a gun in his face. His wallet was all I wanted, and he could go. My daughter stood behind the house, stifling her tears as she reminded herself that she was not to watch her dad. She knew what I was doing, though, she saw my eyes burning with desperation. She was standing there, staring off into the bushes in shock -- knowing full well that the only reason we were alive was our, now, full-blown insomnia.

As I came back to get her, fumbling in my pointless efforts to pocket the wallet before she saw it, I could see her harden. The innocent child realising that this entire time I'd been training her to always be aware of her surroundings. For this to be possible, sleep was impossible. Her grades had grown to even greater heights over the past half a year as she got less and less sleep. They took her to the next grade, mid-year -- something the private school strongly discouraged in most cases. I picked her up and held her to me as I ran, hearing the man cursing as he saw that there was no way to catch me. "No, Anna, No! Cry, baby, let those tears out or you'll hold them in for the rest of your life!" She whimpered, but nothing came. I could feel my heart sink as I tried to do even that, but my proud view that men can't cry stopped any notion of that...

I could smell the fire now, far off in the distance. They didn't know we had escaped. Good. As I think about it, maybe they would have burnt it no matter what. Evidence is hard to come by when it's burnt to ash, and it's hard to get a fire-truck out that far in good time. So the fire continues, to taking most of the woods more-than-likely.

Here I sit, reflecting on the entire day; proud of my little girl for letting herself cry as soon as we got somewhere appropriate. I sat and rubbed her back as her face lay on the pillow. She will make it. She'll be fine. I keep saying these things... but I don't deserve to keep her. I don't need to keep her. At the same time I am nothing without her.

So that's it... I've got to make a plan. I've got to disappear. Revenge? I want it so badly, for them ruining my perfect life. I want to see them dying by my hand. I don't know who they are, though -- and I may never find out.

There is no rest for the wicked.

Anna is not wicked.

My Newest Prospect

2005-02-10T05:41:00.000-05:00

I felt no need to go to any grand scale to hide myself. She didn't know what I looked like and the small, public zoning across from where she resided was a likely spot for a lawyer or a doctor to go when he wanted to relax. I fit my persona well enough -- testing out my wit on a young doctor. He seemed to buy my bit whole-heartedly, so I cut our discussion short and continued watching my newest prospect. She was quite attractive, but that only encriminated her more in my mind. The cute ones could do more because people expected them to always be at their best. I knew this because I lived off that very fact. I kept myself attractive no matter where I was; especially while I worked. I could actually see her inside her office. It took days, but she was beginning to notice that I watched her. I kept my gazes to a minimum, but made sure that when we did make eye contact that I smiled and didn't act aggressive towards her. Just one attractive person admiring another one. She was slower than I would have liked, but she finally got up the nerve to come talk to me...

(I actually hadn't noticed her walking up, but when I did I smiled with a "Yes, finally!" demeanor -- if that makes any sense.)
Her: "Hey, how are you?"
[Typical.]
Me: "I'm surprised."
[Always leave it open-ended...]
Her: "Surprised... What do you mean?"
Me, with a grin: "I was beginning to think you didn't want to talk to the strange guy that stops off during his lunch break every day."
[Well, I was afraid you were smarter.]
Her: "Well, I don't want you to think that!"
[Eww, just laugh and shut up.]
(I smile, very forced.)
Her, as she sits: "So, what's your name?"
[This is too easy... I expected the conversation to go this way.]
Me: "Jacob Rather."
[She makes this horrid jump, like she's acting surprised but only practiced one time.]
Her: "You mean the doctor?"
[Conversation over, run.]

I jumped up and ran as fast as I could. She made a half-assed attempt to stop me by yelling something about having dinner together. I made for the closest alley-way at full speed and kept going. I hadn't planned on having to escape. I didn't bother looking behind me -- I knew someone had to be there. How could she have known I was acting like a doctor? There weren't any doctors with that last name for miles, much less locally. Apparently word had gotten back that I hadn't been taken care of and was probably on the case. I doubled back three times, taking so many alley ways I was sure I was lost. My mental map hadn't betrayed me, though; I ended up a road over from the back entrance to her work. I was not in the mood for games. My mind told me to kick the back door in but I decided to try my wits first. I knocked on the door frantically. Someone opened the door just a bit and looked at me. I introduced myself as some random name and that I had been called to assist in an emergency. People always make the mistake of not listening to anything else when they hear the word "emergency." A young, pudgy woman opened the door and I instantly grabbed her mouth as I entered. I swung her around, eyeing the room for other people and then slammed her head against a metal pole riding up the side of the wall. She didn't scream out -- she just sat there and cried quietly. I told her that if she kept quiet like she should and didn't say anything that nobody would get hurt. She kept crying, but I was sure I had at least bought myself a few minutes. I walked out of the room like I belonged there. I made my way towards the front and sat down at her desk, like a client. "Hey, Trisk."

She wavered and thought of running, but she knew better. I could see the transmitting device she had made the mistake of removing and turning off sitting on her desk now. I sat forward and frowned at her with my most serious face -- the coldest eyes I could muster. I was enjoying myself, but I didn't want her to know it. "You know I can't let you treat me like this." She began to cry, starting with a weak whimper. I stood, smiling at her blissfully unaware co-workers, took her hand and walked her out of the building. The cab I had rented was there. He mumbled some complaint to me about having to wait -- I dropped more money than he'd have seen in three months on the seat beside him and he lit up like I'd just killed his wife. He took me somewhere miles away from anywhere near anything I worked with. We got out at a some swag apartments and I feigned entering the building as the cab driver thanked me and drove off. I quickly jerked her back and began walking down the street in the direction the cab had come. She didn't ask me any questions. I wouldn't have answered her, so it was just as well. I jerked her into a back alley and cracked her skull against the bricks so sharply that she collapsed, instantly unconscious. I put her into the back of a car I was going to have destroyed that night and drove her to my warehouse. I removed everything I had used to mask my appearance and took her inside. She groaned a bit as she woke from her unconscious state, but I let her be for the moment. I had to prepare.

Despite the times being as technologically capable as they were, Psychological Wards still weren't very secure for the types of dealings they handled. As far as I'm concerned they still aren't. I sat on top of her and looked down into her face. I wanted her to understand what was happening before I sent her off to Hell. I had fixed her wounds as professionally as I could manage. I felt they passed. I held the phone in my hand and locked eyes with her as I spoke. "Yes, this is Doctor McWains. I need Doctor Alswip, please." I waited for a moment while I watched the confusion form in her eyes. "Ah, hullooo! This is McWains, I trust you've got everything set up for our young patient at your location?" The doctor prattled on about something; I didn't feel the need to respond until he confirmed my question. "Excellent, excellent. I'll have the transfer patient over in just a few hours. Has her family stopped by to check on her quarters yet? ... No? Strange; Well, I'm sure they will by the time I've arrived. If not, I'll take care of the paperwork for them." I had shaved my head and added a few touches to my face -- it would pass for the task at hand. Just as she began to protest I pearced her flesh with the needle. She had little to say as her entire body went numb and the drugs took over. I thanked the doctor and closed the phone.

As I left the compound, the doctor filled me in on the correct documents to fill out at his compound. The procedures seemed clear enough. I handed him some papers and he looked at me with a questioning look after taking his time sorting through them. He simply said, "The mayor?" I nodded to him and he nodded in a sort of knowing confusion. "Just make sure she is put through without a hitch." Getting those documents wasn't as difficult as I had first thought it would be. Getting the mayor's signature simply required me to find some sort of simple document that wasn't heavily guarded. I had found a local petition and used it accordingly. It was public information, and people just loved posting things over the internet. He had questioned the drug dosage she had been perscribed... He wasn't going to get intangled with something with such dire concequences, though. He fervently nodded and did as he was told. I winked at the back of his balding head as he walked away; smiled, and whispering, "Good boy!"

A Spare Moment

2005-01-09T18:21:00.000-05:00

I really shouldn't have drunk that last beer.... That's what I told myself as I took a step out into the bright Boston light. It burned straight through to my skull, but I kept on walking as if nothing were affecting me. The street demanded a sort of presence that one had to uphold at all times. You couldn't just walk out and start acting stupid. Stupid was what I was good at, though; so moving was a constant option in my mind. I would get a few respectful nods and a smile from the various characters that lived around me, but nothing that enticed me to strike up any sort of conversation. I kept walking, heading towards darker roads. My car was parked three blocks away, so I had some walking to do. I hadn't noticed the dark vehicle trailing me from a distance. The government has both the resources and the man-power to blend perfectly, despite what the movies may tell you.

I slid easily into my ride, striking the engine, gearing it, and flooring it in one fell swoop. Instantly lights blared all around me. They had found me... even after all these years. I had been a bit quicker than they had expected, and I was glad. I moved past what I thought was supposed to become a blockade and followed my planned course. I had to make the state line with perfect timing. They would stop me eventually, but I had to put space between me and them so that I could figure out some sort of alternative plan. I hadn't expected the police to be so thoroughly abrupt in trying to catch me. Everything I had read about had told me they would strike at night when I was completely unable to get away. I had planned to slip away and use the cover of night to escape. My entire alias had been crushed, and my plan was dwindling. I should have thought to consider that books weren't always the truth.

I took curves going sideways, almost flipping my vehicle each time. The police were burning the ass out of my car, but they couldn't keep enough momentum up to fish-tail me. I knew how to get out of it, but I was unpracticed -- rusty. I was pretty sure they didn't know exactly who I was yet, so I still had a chance. This knowledge made me fight even harder to get away. I breathed deep, hearing my old teacher's words. I had to calm myself so that I could drive better than anyone after me. He knew I was in trouble when he taught me; fighting for my freedom. I was running from the past, so he taught me well -- I still hear his words. Everything came rushing back, and I floored it, taking a corner faster than even I had learned to attempt. I heard a wreck behind me, they had tried it too. I knew how to move: corner, corner, straight, corner, corner, corner... keep heading the same direction, but turn so that they never knew exactly where. My heart was beginning to slow, and my breathing was mellow.

One more corner and I would have a straight highway to the next state. I took it hard. Two cars -- both police -- waiting for me. They weren't sitting still, they had been watching my patterns, and they knew where I was going. My heart wrenched with the all-to-familiar crunch of a crash. Something was different this time, though... I felt the vanes pop out of my neck as I roared in pain and sorrow. Anger flooded my vision, they had finally caught me. Through all my paranoia and my effort... spreading my resources thin... even then they had caught me. My leg was crushed between the steering wheel and the door. Blood was everywhere... Everywhere like a picture of a bloody wreck with a deer that someone showed me in a forum. ... wait...

I jumped as I woke up. Looking over to see my little Anna walk into the room. It was dark, and the lights from the chandelier in the main hall made her locks glow. She was an angel. She smiled at me, but didn't say anything, just like I would have done. She knew I had just had another dream. This was one of the worst. What had brought it back after so many years? That web forum... The wreck looked familiar, but it certainly wasn't my own. Before, I would have said I was becoming weak... Now I know that it is the fact that my past haunts me, not weakness, but heart. She sits down in the living room to watch some cartoon. She's not paying attention, though; she's waiting for me to talk, even with her back turned to me -- trying her damnedest to act like my words don't haunt her too...

"You saved me..." It's barely a whisper.

...

Her head tilts forwards a bit, then back a couple of times... She knows. So I write.

The Chills

2004-12-23T06:15:00.000-05:00

The feeling of someone's skull fracturing against the pavement in a large room is unsettling -- but hearing the crunch echo off of the walls... I think that's when I first noticed the chills. A rush of adrenaline shot through my body and everything turned warm. I tensed up and did it again. The chill coursed through me again, stronger because blood had begun to seep from around his head. I don't remember if I was smiling, but I was enjoying myself immensely. I could vaguely make out the screams of the cops' partner. He was running to find any help that was available. I always made sure to lock the door behind my guests, though. I lessened the grip around the man's neck as I realized that the slight thrust that kept touching my fingertips was actually his pulse lessening. Eventually I let go of him.

The men had come onto my property without a warrant, and had physically assaulted me. The entire building was wired; it was all on video. No one was going to catch me off guard if I could help it. The officer was large, muscular even, but he was nothing compared to me. I excelled at my combat courses and nothing short of a twelve-gauge was going to stop me; if that. While I was thinking this I felt blood trickle down my forehead. The bastard had gotten me. I couldn't recall what he had done at the time. I later saw in my recordings that he had backhanded me with his gun after I had thrown my first punch. It was solid, practiced, experienced. I had played out the scenario exactly as I felt it should have gone. The unexpected still arose, though. His gun still came up and knocked me across my face. I didn't notice, but these were the things I had to watch for.

The man looked at me as though I were some sort of monster. He was done screaming, but had this look of horror on his face. I didn't know what to say to him. I didn't want to bullshit with him, but I didn't want to tell him the full truth about how bad he had just fucked up. Apparently I had messed with a "powerful friends' financial status." Nothing pissed me off more than bad cops. I couldn't stand honest ones as they were -- these "dirty-cops" just added insult to injury. They were there to "collect." I couldn't believe people actually used these lines. I didn't have time to watch movies, but I knew the stereotypes. Every man thinks he can take any man on his list. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that I was at the very top of every man's list. "Good luck" was all I gave them.

I helped the man get his partner into their vehicle; which was apparently set up to take care of any evidence they needed to get rid of after "collecting." I never did hear anything back from them; I had them hanging by their balls, and I wasn't going to let go. I checked the news daily, and sorted through my strategies to see how I could have messed up to the point where someone could have traced anything I had done back to my warehouse. I saw no flaw, so there had to be a leak in my contacts. I stood from my meditation and stepped up into my work area. The only noise to be heard was the small box that processed the audio and video information that flowed from all over the building, and a large array of monitors.

Stepping past this and down into my "office," I found the many storage basins where I kept my thorough analysis of each and every individual I conducted business with, or even came into contact with. My mother, a priest, a small child, and even the two good fellows I had just recently met not a few hours before. Every aspect of the way I lived cultured this paranoia. I did not look behind my back like a nervous child. That was far too simplistic and predictable for me. I felt I had to be intelligent on all levels. God help any being that was behind me without my knowledge. They would be dead before I actually knew if someone were really there. I would, quite literally, shoot before I looked if I even thought that was a possibility. The things I had to replace were enumerable.

Hours had passed and I had narrowed my research down to one single woman. She was flaky and irregular at her work; she couldn't carry a steady relationship; she was an intern and needed big money. Apparently her bank account had just increased $2,000 more than her usual paycheck, too... I was homing in on her, and I glared into my monitor screens in a paranoid frenzy; crumpling the notes I had made about her, and instantly memorized... The large mammoth of a computer that sat on the opposing side of the room only functioned when spit turned to ice. Meditation is made difficult in the cold. They say the truly at peace are able to meditate under any condition. I was, by no means, at peace.

A Bad Payment Plan

2004-12-08T05:41:00.000-05:00

I screamed as loud as possible as I felt my nose burst against the cement outside my house. I'd always expected trouble from people in my life, but I have to admit this police officer caught me off guard. He wasn't particularly imposing, in fact he wasn't even intimidating; but I was only a seventeen year-old slacker that was still working off his body-fat. I was still much larger than him, though, and managed to work out of the painful arm-hold he had on me. I rocketed a punch at him, just like Roger had taught me and it worked like a charm. He fell flat on his back, and I just let my instincts take it from there.

Blood pouring out of my nose, I slammed his head against the ground to dizzy him, then began to pound my fists against his face until I could barely lift my arms. He wasn't unconscious, but he was down, and I was about to be in an ass-load of trouble -- not for the last time in my life. I'm not really sure who, but one of our "wonderful" neighbors spotted me having my way with Officer AssFuck, and decided he needed some backup. I was sick and tired of him by the time they got there anyway. I insisted that he started it, but ended up sitting in the police vehicle for a good bit anyway. They wanted to teach me a lesson and throw me in jail, but my mother being who she was and our lawyer appearing on the scene before even she was aware something had happened, stopped that quickly.

As the neighbors told it, they saw the officer attack me, unprovoked. In reality, the man told me that I'd slept with his daughter and I flipped him off and told him she was a great fuck. (Yes, I was an ass-wipe, okay? No, you wouldn't have liked me, and yes, I had started cussing by that point.) That was a turning point in my life, sleeping with his daughter. I met her at a party that I had invited myself to, got her into a room, got her skirt off, and we both lost our virginity to one another. It was quite an experience and at the time I was pretty damned sure girls couldn't get pregnant if it was their first time. I can't say it was good sex, but it was better than masturbating, for sure. I lived for that moment because I was both doing something I shouldn't be doing and was somewhere I wasn't invited or supposed to be. She disappeared after that, but she was someone very important in my life -- I just wouldn't find out for years to come.

The bastards didn't have a chance because I had witnesses; however dishonest, they were on my side and that's all that mattered at that point. My mom had our lawyer collaborating with at least five other lawyers day and night. By the time the court-date came around the police department was almost ready to give up on the case. There was propaganda all over the place about police brutality. Pictures of my busted-up face were in every local newspaper -- I thank God it was a small town. The hearing lasted an amazingly boring four hours in which I spoke for only a few minutes. We won, hands-down, and I guess they fired him or something. As I look back now, the man should have given me what I deserved and just shot me in the stomach; let me bleed to death slowly.

Instead, I grew into a monster. I had beaten' the shit out of a cop and gotten off scott free. People literally shrunk away from me my senior year. I was a towering 6'2", and I didn't have a fearful bone in my body. I was rich, I was powerful, I was strong, I was smart, I had girls, and all I needed was to touch a computer and I could tear your life apart and leave no proof. I was seventeen and I felt like a god.

Essential Year

2004-12-06T19:34:00.000-05:00

Sixteen was an essential year for me. My mom opened me my own bank account, mistakenly feeling that I was mature enough to handle it. It was well into the six digits, which made me gag when I first saw it, so I'm sure she kept a keen eye on it, but she never said anything to me. So I did exactly what any some-what right-minded sixteen year old would do: I bought things.

My room turned into my computer, forcing myself to move into a guest room. I bought two cars -- an absolutely nasty 1978 Pontiac Trans Am, black... It was a complete and total piece of shit, but it was gorgeous; and a God-sent, brand new 1992 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1, blue. I couldn't drive either, and Roger, who was now practically my only true friend, picked them out for me. I bought them a month apart, and got chills every time my mom walked into the room. She just smiled at me as usual, but she had to of been thinking something about that new car in the garage! She never spoke a word, and I continued to shiver.

I got my permit as soon as I could. I put a half-assed effort into it the first time and failed because I only had the Pontiac and Roger was still looking for a real car. I told him my budget a month later and he went after the 'vette, instantly. When I saw it, I had to drive it. Even then I was beginning to learn that things were cheaper after someone else already had it. Cheating the system, that was mine and Roger's game. I was smart about it, really smart.

My mom hooked me up with some redneck vehicle repair shop, and they dropped an '84 engine into the old Trans Am. They fixed it up and made it purr, I'm sure she put their children through college (highschool?) doing it. It was perfect after they finished. That wasn't enough for me, though... My mother had a friend that had just bought a corvette. He was rich, richer than us, and it took us a couple of visits to catch him at the right house. He didn't know me and he didn't know Roger, so Roger acted like my dad and the conversation went a bit like this:

Roger: "Hey! I'm sorry for the trouble, but c..."
Woman: "You're looking for Mr. Kelbin (changed), I'll get him."
[Roger wasn't used to dealing with "people with money."]
Mr. Kelbin: "Hi! What's happenin'?"
[My first thought was, "Nice guy." Roger took off from there.]
Roger: "Hello Mr., um, Kelbin, was it?"
Mr. K: "Yes, oh! Come in, please, I insist."
[Roger almost turned to look at me to make sure I was cool with this, it was my plan after all. Fortunately he caught himself.]
Roger: "Great, sure!"
[We walk in and try our damnedest not to look amazed at the sight, the place was huge.]
Roger: "Well, I'm Jacob In'R'letty (close enough), and this is my son, Derrin."
My thoughts: "Oh God! Roger, you fuck, we agreed on Smith! Jacob and Derrin Smith, it was generic and simple, there had to be millions of them!"
[At this point I didn't realize it, but that name (Derrin Smith) would set my life off on the most consuming lifestyle that I had or would ever experience.]
Roger: "We were just browsing around and couldn't help but notice that you drove that nice little corvette, is it... around town every now and again?"
Mr. K: "Oh, you like it?"
Roger: "Well, I'm not too experienced with these things, but I would like to look at yours, just out of curiosity?"
My Thoughts: "He's not buying it."
Mr. K: "Hmm! Wonderful to meet you both! Yes, sure, I've got some time on my hands, let's go check 'er out!"
My Thoughts: "Holy shit!"
[ I didn't actually curse at the time, I only said them in my head; and I thought that was alright, as long as I didn't say the words.]

Anyway, we check it out and chat with him for a bit longer; myself trying to keep my words to a childish minimum with the occasional ignorant comment -- in light of the fact that I'd memorized every possible statistic about the vehicle and any of it's genre (if you'll allow the word in such a stanza). The car was an absolute dream, and the conversation only got better from there on out. The man ended up selling us the car for a bit more than five and some change because Roger said I was working to pay for the car myself. I hated him for it at the time, but after he cut us that deal I realized it was complete and total genius. Roger missed things sometimes, but he knew how to get what he wanted for less. As he worked, I learned.

From Point A

2004-12-05T04:37:00.000-05:00

Hard as it may seem to grasp with your mind, heh, some hackers don't want to just dive out into the open and say they were/are hackers. I, personally, never had this problem. I'm male, and with this I have an ego the size of my penis... In other words I have a HUGE ego.

All kidding aside, like every other story that starts out while I'm *ahem* I mean someone is talking to their psychologist: It all started when I was about thirteen and I realized that people didn't like me...

I lived in Missouri at the time, I'll neglect to say exactly where. My parents had money and I had more time on my hands and nothing even closely related to an ego... I thought people hated me too much for that to be a possibility at the time. The ego would have only gotten in the way at that point. My dad bought me my first computer. I doubt you're interested in what model, let's just say this was in 1989, and it was new. (My birthday is May, 13th; do the math, that means I was born in... ?) The true nerds will take it from there. I had no idea what I was doing, but my dad wanted it like that. He wanted me to figure it out. He was the Head Hardware and Software Engineer at his company and the smartest person I've ever known. I didn't really learn anything about it until after he got cancer. I didn't start learning to use it for darker things until after he died, a year later...

It started off innocent enough. I was fifteen and new software was flowing forth from every part of the world. I can't remember if Microsoft had taken shape at that point (don't feel like or care to look), but I wouldn't even touch that OS (Operating System) for years to come, anyway; moot point. I crunched some numbers and realized how fortunate my family truly was. This soon became the basis of my life and my popularity, along with what I had figured out with computers.

I had already began to run my ego around school about being a "computer-wiz." Sure, I could type faster than anyone I knew (not that it mattered at that point), and I understood software functionality well enough, but I had no real talent at that point. The ego felt good, though -- it made people look at me with this look of "Dude!", and eventually they came to like me. If it was really for that, I don't even know now, but that's what I thought it was then.

By sixteen I was putting my own computers together... It wasn't easy to find the parts then, but when you had enough money and your mom had friends, you could find them -- or someone to make them for you. Roger (name changed, I dunno why), a seedy older friend that realized what I was capable of managed to get a hold of a crude version of what you would call a blue box these days. I didn't call it anything and I just used it a couple of times before deciding it was useless (seeing as how money wasn't real to me then), but it set me off: I could do illegal things without getting caught; and it felt great.