394 lines
21 KiB
Plaintext
394 lines
21 KiB
Plaintext
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==Phrack Magazine==
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Volume Five, Issue Forty-Five, File 9 of 28
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****************************************************************************
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No Time For Goodbyes
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Phiber Optik's Journey to Prison
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by Emmanuel Goldstein
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It was almost like looking forward to something. That's the feeling
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we all had as we started out on Thursday evening, January 6th - one
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day before Phiber Optik (hereafter called Mark) was to report to
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federal prison in Schuylkill, Pennsylvania for his undefined part
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in an undefined conspiracy. We were all hackers of one sort or
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another and this trip to a prison was actually a sort of adventure
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for us. We knew Mark's curiosity had been piqued as well, though
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not to the point of outweighing the dread of the unknown and the
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emotional drain of losing a year of life with friends, family, and
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technology.
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There were five of us who would take the trip down to Philadelphia
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in a car meant for four - myself, Mark, Walter, Roman, and Rob. The
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plan was to meet up with 2600 people in Philadelphia on Thursday,
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drive out to Schuylkill and drop Mark off on Friday, drive back and
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go to the Philadelphia 2600 meeting, and return later that evening.
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It sure sounded better than sending him away on a prison bus.
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Knocking on the door of his family's house in Queens that frigid
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night, a very weird feeling came over me. How many times had I
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stood there before to take Mark to a conference, a hacker meeting,
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a radio show, whatever. Today I was there to separate him from
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everything he knew. I felt like I had somehow become part of the
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process, that I was an agent of the government sent there to finish
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the dirty work that they had begun. It doesn't take a whole lot to
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join the gestapo, I realized.
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I talked to Mark's father for the very first time that night. I had
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chatted with his mother on a number of occasions but never his
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father before then. He was putting on as brave a front as he could,
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looking at any glimmer of optimism as the shape reality would take.
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The prison wouldn't be that bad, he would be treated like a human
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being, they'd try to visit on the weekends, and anything else that
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could help make this seem like an extended vacation. As long as he
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learns to keep his mouth shut and not annoy anyone, he'll be all
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right. Of course, we both knew full well that Mark's forthright
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approach *always* managed to annoy somebody, albeit usually only
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until they got to know him a little. Imagining Mark fading into the
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background just wasn't something we could do.
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Everything in Mark's room was neatly arranged and ready to greet
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him upon his return - his computer, manuals, a videotape of "Monty
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Python and the Holy Grail" with extra footage that a friend had
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sent him (I convinced him to let me borrow it), a first edition of
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"Hackers" that Steven Levy had just given him, and tons of other
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items that could keep anyone occupied for hours. In fact, he was
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occupied when I got there - he and Walter were trying to solve a
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terminal emulation problem. My gestapo duties forced me to get him
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going. It was getting late and we had to be in Philadelphia at a
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reasonable time, especially since it was supposed to start snowing
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at any moment. And so, the final goodbyes were said - Mark's mother
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was especially worried that he might forget part of his medication
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or that they'd have difficulty getting him refills. (In fact,
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everyone involved in his case couldn't understand why Mark's
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serious health problems had never been mentioned during the whole
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ordeal or considered during sentencing.) The rest of us waited in
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the car so he could have some final moments of privacy - and also
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so we wouldn't have to pretend to smile while watching a family
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being pulled apart in front of us, all in the name of sending a
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message to other hackers.
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Our drive was like almost any other. We talked about the previous
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night's radio show, argued about software, discussed nuances of
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Star Trek, and managed to get lost before we even left New York.
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(Somehow we couldn't figure out how the BQE southbound connected
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with the Verrazano Bridge which led to an extended stay in
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Brooklyn.) We talked about ECHO, the system that Mark has been
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working on over the past year and how, since Wednesday, a couple of
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dozen users had changed their last names to Optik as a tribute. It
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meant a lot to him.
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When you're in a car with five hackers, there's rarely any quiet
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moments and the time goes by pretty quickly. So we arrived in
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Philadelphia and (after getting lost again) found our way to South
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Street and Jim's Cheesesteaks, a place I had always wanted to take
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Mark to, since he has such an affinity to red meat. Jim's is one of
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my favorite places in the world and we soon became very comfortable
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there. We met up with Bernie S. and some of the other Philadelphia
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hackers and had a great time playing with laptops and scanners
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while eating cheesesteaks. The people at Jim's were fascinated by
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us and asked all kinds of questions about computers and things.
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We've had so many gatherings like this in the past, but it was
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pretty cool to just pull into a strange city and have it happen
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again. The karma was good.
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We wound up back at Bernie S.'s house where we exchanged theories
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and experiences of our various cable and phone companies, played
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around with scanners, and just tried to act like everything was as
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normal as ever. We also went to an all-night supermarket to find
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Pennsylvania things: TastyKakes, Pennsylvania Dutch pretzels, and
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pickles that we found out were really from Brooklyn. We managed to
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confuse the hell out of the bar code reader by passing a copy of
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2600 over it - the system hung for at least a minute!
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It was around five in the morning when one of us finally asked the
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question: "Just when exactly does Mark have to be at this prison?"
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We decided to call them right then and there to find out. The
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person answering the phone was nice enough - she said he had until
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11:59 pm before he was considered a fugitive. This was very good
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news - it meant a few more hours of freedom and Mark was happy that
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he'd get to go to the Philadelphia meeting after all. As we drifted
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off to sleep with the sun rising, we tried to outdo each other with
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trivial information about foreign countries. Mark was particularly
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good with obscure African nations of years past while I was the
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only one who knew what had become of Burma. All told, not a bad
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last day.
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Prison Day arrived and we all got up at the same moment (2:03 pm)
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because Bernie S. sounded an airhorn in the living room. Crude, but
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effective.
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As we recharged ourselves, it quickly became apparent that this was
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a very bizarre day. During the overnight, the entire region had
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been paralyzed by a freak ice storm - something I hadn't seen in 16
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years and most of the rest of us had never experienced. We turned
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on the TV - interstates were closed, power was failing, cars were
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moving sideways, people were falling down.... This was definitely
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cool. But what about Mark? How could we get him to prison with
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roads closed and treacherous conditions everywhere? His prison was
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about two hours away in the direction of wilderness and mining
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towns. If the city was paralyzed, the sticks must be amputated
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entirely!
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So we called the prison again. Bernie S. did the talking, as he had
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done the night before. This time, he wound up getting transferred
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a couple of times. They weren't able to find Mark's name anywhere.
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But that good fortune didn't last - "Oh yeah, I know who you're
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talking about," the person on the phone said. Bernie explained the
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situation to them and said that the State Troopers were telling
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people not to travel. So what were we to do? "Well," the
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friendly-sounding voice on the other end said, "just get here when
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you can get here." We were overjoyed. Yet more freedom for Mark all
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because of a freak of nature! I told Bernie that he had already
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been more successful than Mark's lawyer in keeping him out of
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prison.
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We spent the afternoon getting ready for the meeting, watching The
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Weather Channel, and consuming tea and TastyKakes in front of a
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roaring fire. At one point we turned to a channel that was hawking
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computer education videos for kids. "These children," the fake
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schoolteacher was saying with equally fake enthusiasm, "are going
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to be at such an advantage because they're taking an early interest
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in computers." "Yeah," we heard Mark say with feigned glee from
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another room, "they may get to experience *prison* for a year!"
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It took about 45 minutes to get all of the ice off our cars.
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Negotiating hills and corners became a matter of great concern. But
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we made it to the meeting, which took place in the middle of 30th
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Street Station, where all of the Amtrak trains were two and a half
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hours late. Because of the weather, attendance was less than usual
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but the people that showed up were enthusiastic and glad to meet
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Phiber Optik as he passed by on his way up the river.
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After the meeting we found a huge tunnel system to explore,
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complete with steampipes and "Poseidon Adventure" rooms. Everywhere
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we went, there were corridors leading to new mysteries and strange
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sights. It was amazing to think that the moment when everybody
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figured Mark would be in prison, here he was with us wandering
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around in the bowels of a strange city. The karma was great.
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But then the real fun began. We decided to head back to South
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Street to find slow food - in fact, what would probably be Mark's
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last genuine meal. But Philadelphia was not like New York. When the
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city is paralyzed, it really is paralyzed. Stores close and people
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stay home, even on a Friday night. We wanted to take him to a Thai
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place but both of the ones we knew of were closed. We embarked on
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a lengthy search by foot for an open food place. The sidewalks and
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the streets were completely encased in ice. Like drunken sailors in
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slow motion, we all staggered down the narrow streets, no longer so
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much concerned with food, but just content to remain upright.
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People, even dogs, were slipping and falling all around us. We did
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our best to maintain dignity but hysterical laughter soon took over
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because the situation was too absurd to believe. Here we were in a
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strange city, unable to stand upright in a veritable ice palace,
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trying to figure out a way to get one of our own into a prison. I
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knew it was going to be a strange trip but this could easily beat
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any drug.
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We ate like kings in a Greek place somewhere for a couple of hours,
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then walked and crawled back to the cars. The plan now was to take
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Mark to prison on Saturday when hopefully the roads would be
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passable. Actually, we were all hoping this would go on for a while
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longer but we knew it had to end at some point. So, after a stop at
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an all-night supermarket that had no power and was forced to ring
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up everything by hand, we made it back to Bernie's for what would
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really be Mark's last free night. It was well after midnight and
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Mark was now officially late for prison. (Mark has a reputation for
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being late to things but at least this time the elements could take
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the blame.) We wound up watching the "Holy Grail" videotape until
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it was practically light again. One of the last things I remember
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was hearing Mark say how he wanted to sleep as little as possible
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so he could be awake and free longer.
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We left Bernie's late Saturday afternoon. It was sad because the
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aura had been so positive and now it was definitely ending. We were
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leaving the warmth of a house with a fireplace and a conversation
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pit, journeying into the wild and the darkness with wind chill
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factors well below zero. And this time, we weren't coming back.
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We took two cars - Bernie and Rob in one; me, Mark, Walter, and
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Roman in the other. We kept in touch with two way radios which was
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a very good idea considering the number of wrong turns we always
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manage to make. We passed through darkened towns and alien
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landscapes, keeping track of the number of places left to go
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through. We found a convenience store that had six foot tall beef
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jerky and Camel Light Wides. Since Mark smokes Camel Lights (he had
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managed to quit but all of the stress of the past year has gotten
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him right back into it), and since he had never heard of the wide
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version, I figured he'd like to compare the two, so I bought him a
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pack. I never buy cigarettes for anyone because I can't stand them
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and I think they're death sticks but in this case I knew they'd be
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therapeutic. As we stood out there in the single digits - him with
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his Wides, me with my iced tea - he said he could definitely feel
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more smoke per inch. And, for some reason, I was glad to hear it.
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Minersville was our final destination but we had one more town to
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pass through - Frackville. Yeah, no shit. It was the final dose of
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that magical karma we needed. As we looked down the streets of this
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tiny town, we tried to find a sign that maybe we could take a
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picture of, since nobody would ever believe us. We pulled up to a
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convenience store as two cops were going in. And that's when we
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realized what we had been sent there to do.
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Bernie S. went in to talk to the cops and when he came out, he had
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convinced them to pose with Mark in front of their squad car. (It
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didn't really take much convincing - they were amazed that anyone
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would care.) So, if the pictures come out, you can expect to see a
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shot of Phiber Optik being "arrested" by the Frackville police, all
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with big smiles on their faces. Frackville, incidentally, has a
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population of about 5,000 which I'm told is about the distribution
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of Phrack Magazine. Kinda cosmic.
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So now there was nothing left to do. We couldn't even get lost -
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the prison was straight ahead of us. Our long journey was about to
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come to a close. But it had been incredible from the start; there
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was no reason to believe the magic would end here. The prison
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people would be friendly, maybe we'd chat with them for a while.
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They'd make hot chocolate. All right, maybe not. But everybody
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would part on good terms. We'd all give Mark a hug. Our sadness
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would be countered by hope.
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The compound was huge and brightly lit. We drove through it for
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miles before reaching the administration building. We assumed this
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was where Mark should check in so we parked the cars there and took
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a couple of final videos from our camcorder. Mark was nervous but
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he was still Mark. "I think the message is 'come here in the
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summer,'" he said to the camera as we shivered uncontrollably in
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the biting freeze.
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As we got to the door of the administration building, we found it
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to be locked. We started looking for side doors or any other way to
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get in. "There's not a record of people breaking *into* prison,"
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Bernie wondered out loud. It was still more craziness. Could they
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actually be closed?
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I drove down the road to another building and a dead end. Bernie
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called the prison from his cellular phone. He told them he was in
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front of the administration building and he wanted to check
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somebody in. They were very confused and said there was no way he
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could be there. He insisted he was and told them he was in his car.
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"You have a *car* phone?" they asked in amazement. When the dust
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settled, they said to come down to the building at the end of the
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road where I was already parked. We waited around for a couple of
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minutes until we saw some movement inside. Then we all got out and
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started the final steps of our trip.
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I was the first one to get to the door. A middle-aged bespectacled
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guy was there. I said hi to him but he said nothing and fixed his
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gaze on the five other people behind me.
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"All right, who's from the immediate family?"
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"None of us are immediate family. We're just--"
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"Who's the individual reporting in?"
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"I'm the individual reporting in," Mark said quietly.
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"The only one I need is just him."
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The guard asked Mark if he had anything on him worth more than
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$100. Mark said he didn't. The guard turned to us.
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"All right, gentlemen. He's ours. Y'all can depart."
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They pulled him inside and he was gone. No time for goodbyes from
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any of us - it happened that fast. It wasn't supposed to have been
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like this; there was so much to convey in those final moments.
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Mark, we're with you... Hang in there... We'll come and visit....
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Just a fucking goodbye for God's sake.
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It caught us all totally off guard. They were treating him like a
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maximum security inmate. And they treated us like we were nothing,
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like we hadn't been through this whole thing together, like we
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hadn't just embarked on this crazy adventure for the last few days.
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The karma was gone.
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From behind the door, a hooded figure appeared holding handcuffs.
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He looked through the glass at us as we were turning to leave.
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Suddenly, he opened the outer door and pointed to our camera. "You
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can't be videotaping the prison here," he said. "All right," I
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replied, being the closest one to him and the last to start back to
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the cars. As I turned away, he came forward and said, "We gotta
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have that film." "But we didn't take any pictures of the prison!"
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I objected. "We gotta take it anyway," he insisted.
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We all knew what to do. Giving up the tape would mean losing all
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recordings of Mark's last days of freedom. The meeting in
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Philadelphia, slipping down the icy streets, hanging out in
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Bernie's house, Frackville.... No way. No fucking way.
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Roman, who had been our cameraman throughout, carefully passed off
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the camera to Bernie, who quickly got to the front of the group. I
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stayed behind to continue insisting that we hadn't filmed any part
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of their precious prison. I didn't even get into the fact that
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there are no signs up anywhere saying this and that it appeared to
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me that he was imposing this rule just to be a prick. Not that I
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would have, since Mark was somewhere inside that building and
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anything we did could have repercussions for him. Fortunately, the
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hooded guard appeared to conclude that even if he was able to grab
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our camera, he'd probably never find the tape. And he never would
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have.
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The hooded guard stepped back inside and we went on our way. If it
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had been dark and cold before, now it was especially so. And we all
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felt the emptiness that had replaced Mark, who had been an active
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part of our conversations only a couple of minutes earlier. We
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fully expected to be stopped or chased at any moment for the
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"trouble" we had caused. It was a long ride out of the compound.
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We headed for the nearest major town: Pottsville. There, we went to
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the only 24 hour anything in miles, a breakfast/burger joint called
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Coney Island of all things. We just kind of sat there for awhile,
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not really knowing what to say and feeling like real solid shit.
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Roman took out the camcorder and started looking through the view
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screen. "We got it," he said. "We got it all."
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Looking at the tape, the things that really hit me hard are the
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happy things. Seeing the cops of Frackville posing and laughing
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with Mark, only a few minutes before that ugly episode, puts a
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feeling of lead in my stomach. I'm just glad we gave him a hell of
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a sendoff; memories of it will give him strength to get through
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this.
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What sticks with me the most is the way Mark never changed, right
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up to the end. He kept his incredible sense of humor, his caustic
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wit, his curiosity and sense of adventure. And he never stopped
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being a hacker in the true sense. What would a year of this
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environment do to such a person?
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Our long ride back to New York was pretty quiet for the most part.
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Occasionally we'd talk about what happened and then we'd be alone
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with our thoughts. My thoughts are disturbing. I know what I saw
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was wrong. I know one day we'll realize this was a horrible thing
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to do to somebody in the prime of life. I don't doubt any of that.
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What I worry about is what the cost will be. What will happen to
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these bright, enthusiastic, and courageous people I've come to know
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and love? How many of us will give up and become embittered shells
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of the full individuals we started out as? Already, I've caught
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myself muttering aloud several times, something new for me.
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Mark was not the only one, not by far. But he was a symbol - even
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the judge told him that at the sentencing. And a message was sent,
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as our system of justice is so fond of doing. But this time another
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message was sent - this one from Mark, his friends, and the scores
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of other hackers who spoke up. Everybody knew this wasn't right.
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All through this emotional sinkhole, our tears come from sadness
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and from anger. And, to quote the Clash, "Anger can be power." Now
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we just have to learn to use it.
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Mark Abene #32109-054
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FPC, Schuylkill
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Unit 1
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PO Box 670
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Minersville, PA 17954-0670
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[Letters, paperback books, and photos are acceptable. Virtually
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nothing else is. And remember that everything will be looked at
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by prison people first.]
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