01.16.03
Posted in forum archive at 11:30 am by
“Who do you work for spook?”
After a moment of hesitation you respond “Cockroach”.
Devon leans into the light cast by his desk lamp and studies your face. His brow is wrinkled in deep thought for a second and then he begins to laugh – a deep, raspy sound of mirth colored with the remnants of too many cigarettes.
“Cockroach, huh?” he says, chuckling, “Well, fine then. I was told that you could keep a secret. If you don’t want to tell me all the better. The more secrets we keep the better we are off.”
Devon folds his hands in front of him. “As you know, my name is Devon. Even though we officially ‘loath’ any kind of chain of command my experience kind of makes me a leader here. Nobody here likes to be told what to do so I’ve had to become a storyteller. I’ve found that stories relay information, influence behavior, and, barring anything else, entertain.”
He looks you in the eye.
“What kind of story do you like?”
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01.14.03
Posted in forum archive at 11:52 am by
You’ve found yourself alone for a few precious moments while Nance announces your arrival to the mysterious ‘Devon’. After awaking in a club with no memory, you take this rare opportunity to search yourself for clues.
There are a few miscellaneous objects; for example, a matchbook from a place called “Blissful Youth Hostel and E-bar”. There is also a small, translucent pink plastic pen. Pinching the sides makes it give off a little glow. In your upper pocket you find a mostly used tissue, all balled up.
Of more interest is a worn newspaper article you find in one of your lower pockets. It is hard to focus on the article because you are so hungry but the getting the gist of the article is possible.
It is about a secret system named Echelon, a series of devices and agreements used by governments to spy on their own people. It worked by intercepting and processing stuff via passing satellites. It hints at the existence of secret shadow ground stations – one in Cornwall, England and another in Yakima, Washington, US. There even a grainy picture of the Yakima site – some distant non-descript buildings in front of barren, sloping hills. The crux of the entire thing seems to be just how pissed off the French are that they weren’t invited to the multi-nation eves-dropping party. You begin to drift off when the article dives into cross allegations of a ‘Frenchelon’; a system located near Paris that is equipped with some kind of “semantic analysis engines” to sort info.
There is a second article, this one about increasing levels of multinational corporate espionage. The paper here is also yellowed. It is from the Seattle Times but unfortunately the date has been torn off. There are several handwritten notes on this article, most indecipherable. However, at the top, is the word ‘Cockroach’ in large printed text, circled several times.
Finally, you have a little pocket-pedia, a device about the size of a credit card. It has a small stylus and a display that takes up almost its entire size. On the back, there is a little infrared port, most likely for updating content. Turning it on, it asks if you want to revert to the last viewed article. Hitting yes, you see an entry on a man named Phil Zimmermann, maker of PGP (pretty good privacy). He apparently was the subject of 3 year FBI investigation because of his work to widen the use of public key cryptography; a process which allowed communication without physically distributing the keys. There are several user entered notes including the interesting phrase “Zimmermann is the key”.
Before you can dwell on this further Nance comes to retrieve you. DevonÂ’s room is apart from the rest of the anarchist commune. Nance shows you in to the dimly lit office and then closes the door behind you. Devon, hidden in shadows and sitting behind a very battered desk, speaks.
“Who do you work for, spook?”
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01.10.03
Posted in forum archive at 9:09 am by
You chose to follow the girl…
You are violently, and none too gracefully, thrown into the back alley. Needless to say, this does nothing to clear your head.
“And stay out!”
As you dashed into the writhing bodies the bar tender shouted something at you, the apparent yowl drowning in the booming club ambiance. The lippy girl had almost been able to yank you away from the burly men by using the crowd for cover. The mistake had been doubling back so she could grab her jacket from the coat checkroom. Unlike your pocketed BDU, her tank top and raver pants were ill suited for extended escapes through the winter streets. It was just enough pause to be caught. The burly men, bouncers, seemed to take pride in doing their job with gusto, unfortunately.
And now the lippy girl was pulling at your arm again, pulling you up.
“You were supposed to be here three hours ago.” She pauses, gears clicking inside her pale head. She seems about to ask a question but decides against it at the last minute.
“Come on,” she says, turning. “We’re late. There’s people waiting for you.”
The streets that you walk through are nothing more than an endless network of darkened alleyways and underpass walkways. The night air is chilly enough that you can see your breath. The power lines that you cross under are covered with frost; when directly underneath them they make a sound like rattlesnakes do when posed to strike.
The Lippy girls talks sparsely as you travel. Each phases seems carefully considered. Getting information beyond whatÂ’s sheÂ’s willing to give is difficult.
“You can call me Nance. I’m not your employer. I’m only a courier so don’t bother playing any mind games; I won’t know anyway,” she says, pulling her coat tighter around her waist. “Access convergence my ass”. She swears something in a language you don’t know. It sounds Asian though.
You arrive at a brick building that must have been home to expensive lofts before the economic center of town moved, and before that, warehouses. Inside itÂ’s old but clean; worn but functionally attractive in a kitschy sort of way.
There are lots of youths, teens, a few twenty-somethingÂ’s, lounging about; talking, playing cards, a small group listening to one particularly long goateed fellow strum a guitar. One conversation, however, canÂ’t help but grab your attention.
“The toaster is the ideal model people,” one of the older tenants declares as the crowd sits enraptured around him. He’s dressed as most anarchists do – cheap department store black hooded sweatshirt, dirty black pants, and steel toe boots. “The toaster is stable, iconic. A design was found the worked, and we could use it. Today? Today what happens? A new coding language every couple years with feature you can’t live without. People don’t realize that the compiler people are corporations too. They’re churning product and they want you to pay for it. They’ll never release the final version – what would they sell?”
The crowd nods.
“And these new features? They’re just meant to confuse you! So then you have to buy the manual explaining how to use them. But of course the manual is written only to confuse you so you have to buy the manual explaining how to use the manual! Where is the productivity to be gained? Who benefits from these new features?”
“Wait here and don’t touch anything,” Nance says. “I’ll tell Devon you’re here.”
You happen to notice a small fridge in the corner and you suddenly remember youÂ’re very hungry. It seems to have been forever since youÂ’ve last eaten.
What do you do?
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01.07.03
Posted in forum archive at 7:17 pm by
A strobe flashes.
Blacklight resumes, outlining a shoddy bartop in front of you. You could swear your head is pounding until you realize the entire room is throbbing. Slowly, your senses seem to settle and focus – thoughts pulled from the ether like cold syrup from a bottle. The revelations come slowly:
[list:98e3ce2dd9]You are in a club – a particularly gothic club.[/list:u:98e3ce2dd9]
[list:98e3ce2dd9]You are sitting at a bar.[/list:u:98e3ce2dd9]
[list:98e3ce2dd9]You have no idea how you got here.[/list:u:98e3ce2dd9]
[list:98e3ce2dd9]Fischerspooner’s ‘Emerge’ is playing loud enough to mask an airplane landing next door.[/list:u:98e3ce2dd9]
[list:98e3ce2dd9]You have no idea who you are. [/list:u:98e3ce2dd9]
The last two have you especially worried. The music above begins to fade slightly.
“There you are!” A woman grabs your arm, turning you on the swivel stool toward here. “You look like sh-“
She’s drowned out by the opening stabs of Dephece Mode’s ‘Master & Servant’. She’s tall, almost lanky and wearing a horrible shade of lipstick – a very bright red which just draws attention to just how pale she is. Her outfit doesn’t quite fit in either. It’s too neon, too many pockets – More Carl Cox than Covenant.
There’s a tap on your shoulder. The stern looking barkeep, who’s portrait could be mistaken for Mr. Clean (if Mister Clean had celtic runes tattooed over his entire head) holds his hand out, expectantly. Looking down you see a glass – in fact, you see a disturbing number of glasses on the counter top.
In the mirror behind the bar you see two burly men pushing their way through the crowd toward you. Disturbingly, the one leading reaches for something under his jacket.
The girl with the bright lips and pale tugs on your arm, appearing just a shade south of pissed.
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01.02.03
Posted in forum archive at 11:13 am by
Last year a mysterious donor offered 2 prizes of $100k each to whoever could put Linux on an Xbox – $100k for those who could do it with a hardware mod and $100k for those who could do it without.
Last year a team was able to successful put Linux on with a hardware mod but as the year drew to a close it looked as if the 2nd prize would go unclaimed.
Well, not only has the enimatic benefactor extended the competition for another whole year, but he’s revealed his identity.
Low and behold, it’s my old buddy Michael Robertson. 
I’ve written about Robertson before and he’s seems determined to be an remote influence. Before he was the CEO of Lindows (the evil Windows/Linux bastard child OS) he was the CEO of MP3.C – which he ran into the ground before selling out to corporate handlers.
And now he’s the puppetmaster? The one responsible for enticing scores of hackers to undo carefully crafted security measures to install Linux? One would thing that is one could install Linux on a machine then they would consievable be able to put Lindows on their too…
Clever trick offering a token carrot for potentially millions of dollars of development work. 
I can’t decide whether to loath or love this guy..I mean it’s a brilliant piece of social engineering with limited resources, but its just so dirty…. [shudder].. must think… :scitzo:
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