A steady stream of bytes departs his machine 128 Kbps and vanishes into the ether. After breakfast with the family, another wave of automated scripts kicks in. After a quick espresso and another cigarette, he surveys the contents of a few private FTP sites, filters through a bunch of new files, and then reroutes the good stuff to his newsreader. He has 30 messages from all over the world: some fan mail, a couple of flames, a few snippets of interesting information, three or four requests - some clear, some PGP-encoded. He looks for errors and then reads his email. Sunday morning, 7 a.m., somewhere in US Eastern Standard Time: Mad Hatter gets up, has a glass of Seagram's Ginger Ale and a cigarette, and checks his machine, which has been running automated scripts all night. For the software industry, it's a billion-dollar nightmare. For the wannabe underground, collecting it is an obsession. For the Inner Circle, cracking software is a challenge.
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