120 lines
7.3 KiB
Plaintext
120 lines
7.3 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Shard
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-----
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Contentness. Satisfaction. With a sly smile, the young man
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dug in his pockets for his keys. The keyring held various keys for
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different aspects of his life. A four meg simm dangled from it, a
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sign of his profession. A super mini-maglite next to the RAM. He sorted
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out the right key and popped the trunk of his '92 Honda Civic. The
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trunk lifted up revealing the normal contents he had seen everytime
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before.
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A black milk crate filled with car components helped him
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dozens of times before. Snake light, mini-mag lite, two cans of
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fix-a-flats, paperwork from his last two car repairs, and other
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assorted items. Next to that was an old military bag filled with
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common tools; screw drivers, hammer, wrench, and more. Toward the back
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of the trunk was a metal pole in case he ran into unfriendly types.
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He glanced both ways to make sure no one was paying any special
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attention to him, not that they would have a reason, but he always
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liked to make sure.
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It was a beautiful day out, more so because he rarely left his
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apartment during the day. He set the red plastic cup on the back bumper
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and put on a set of cheap gloves. After he emptied the trunk of the
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normal contents, he set to task. Throughout the trunk were small
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shards of glass, littering the carpet like stars on night. Starting
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in the upper right corner, he moved clockwise through the trunk removing
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the glass. Each piece rolled off his gloves into the cup.
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It was only five hours before, his friend had thrown a twenty
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pound rock through the window of a computer repair shop. He had followed
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the rock through seconds after and began to gather up items in the
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store. By the count of ten both men were in the store, thieves of the
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night. Twenty, and his friend's bag had several hard drives in it. Thirty
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and he had removed all cable connections from their primary server, his
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friend with a full bag already. Forty seconds and his friend was heading
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out with bag in one hand, a stack of routers balanced on his other.
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Fifty seconds and he was running out the window he had entered, a full
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tower server under each arm. Both weighed quite a bit, but felt like
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empty pizza boxes because of the adrenaline.
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Three minutes after the rock sailed through, they were turning
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onto the frontage road, entering the freeway. No sign of police, nothing
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else out of the ordinary. It was only fifteen more seconds before they
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were free to relax. Once on the highway, they were just two guys going
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home late at night. He remembers pulling into the apartment complex
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a big smile on both of their faces, content with their new found
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possessions. Neither could afford it on their individual incomes, but
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none of the equipment they had liberated were required by any means.
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Just an easy way to get new toys to play with, to learn about. It was
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a great way to enhance their skillset in order to progress in the computer
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industry.
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Twenty minutes had passed and half the glass shards were out
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of the trunk and into the cup. No matter what they did, glass always
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ended up in the car or their clothes. It would be weeks later and one
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of them would find a piece of glass in a shirt pocket or cuff of a sleeve.
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This had almost become a ritual after a night of energy. More minutes
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and a few neighbors passed as he continued cleaning. It was rare that
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he gave thought about the right or wrong of what he did. He had no problems
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doing that kind of thing at night, no moral barriers. The more he thought
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about it, the more satisfied he was.
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People didn't look at the entire picture most of the time. They
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saw the short term view, and made a judgement based off that shallow
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view. The following day someone had to replace the broken window. That
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provided more work for the glass companies, helped pay the salary of
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the installation guy, produced more orders for replacement glass. The
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police would surely be called in to take reports, providing them with
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their somewhat daily routine. The insurance company of the computer
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store would receive a call, one or two of their agents would spend part
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of their day filling out paperwork in order to replace the stolen
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equipment. The computer store was not full of morons, so because of
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clever paperwork, the store actually made a few dollars profit on the
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missing equipment. The companies that made the hardware will receive
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purchase orders to replace the originals.
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Add it all up, and not much was truly lost. More good came out
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of the 'crime' than bad, yet no one saw it that way. Or maybe they did.
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Maybe that explains why police are so casual about crimes of that nature,
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and never seem really interested in catching the bad guys unless the
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criminals happen to fall in their lap. Who knows. The last piece of
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glass fell into the cup, the trunk closed. He headed across the parking
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lot toward his front door, and without a second thought tossed the plastic
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cup into the dumpster. One cup of broken glass is all there was to
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represent hours and hours of work and legitimate business for all those
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other people.
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Not like it mattered that his actions went unappreciated. He ended
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up with new equipment to play with. Half a dozen other people ended up
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with more work in order to pay their bills and move on in their life.
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If they stopped to think about it, they should probably thank him. But
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he knew it wouldn't come to that. He had plenty of thanks already, in the
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form of a weak security system, poor response time, and bad placement
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of equipment. He laughed as he thought about sending them a thank you
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card. As quick as the notion had occurred, it passed on, leaving him with
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a slight smile. And a small cut on his thumb. Oh the price that is
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paid.
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- dis
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
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= To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with =
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= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
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= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
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= AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids =
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= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
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= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= WWW http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= http://www.simunye.com/fuck =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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