imagine successfully infiltrating a coterie of hackers. neon hair extensions and mirrorshades swirl around you. java. c++. adobe photoshop. you say the words and are rewarded with acceptance. techno music. but you have grown complacent.
"i love purchasing software on CD-ROMs" you say and suddenly all is silent. the crowd gapes, betrayed, and then parts to reveal the Hack King upon his modem throne. he throws down his e-cig and crushes it under his knee-high combat boots, the ceramic splintering like bone. you will not leave this place alive.
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