The channel loads. Nine hundred forty-seven users. The screen fills with scrolling text—requests, trades, announcements.
* ChanServ sets mode: +o SKa
Not Kaos manually opping me—ChanServ. I'm on the access list.
[Kaos] welcome to the big leagues
[Kaos] mp3 is the storefront, this is where the real action is
I check what everyone else sees when they look me up.
* SKa on @#mp3 @#warez @#kaos
Ops in three channels. Hundreds of people see me as an operator.
The conversation history scrolls past:
A file server bot announces:
* WarezBot v2.4: 847 files available
* anarchist_cookbook.txt (245KB)
* phreak_guide_1997.zip (1.2MB)
* crack_winzip_2.0.exe (856KB)
* 0day_exploit_collection.tar.gz (4.3MB)
* aolhell_toolkit.exe (2.1MB)
...
Software cracks. Hacking tools. Phreaking guides. Zero-day exploits.
This isn't music trading anymore.
[Kaos] you good with this?
[SKa] yeah im good
[Kaos] cool. just keep your head down in there
[Kaos] big channel means IRCops watch it. dont draw attention
[SKa] IRCops?
[Kaos] network operators. theyre not there to chat. theyre there to enforce the rules
[Kaos] if an ircop messages you, something went very wrong
[Kaos] and if they G-line you? youre done. banned from every server on the network
[Kaos] permanently
[SKa] got it. stay invisible
[Kaos] exactly
I close the PM window. Another one opens immediately.
[Aimee69] hey congrats on the @
[SKa] thanks
[Aimee69] the warez crowd is different—more about power than community
[Aimee69] ur different though
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
[Aimee69] you actually care about the people here.
[Aimee69] dont forget about me when ur running with the big operators ;P
[SKa] i wont :D
But I'm already looking back at #warez. TeKNiQue explaining exploits. d0pe talking about DDoS scripts.
---
Saturday afternoon. Dad appears in my doorway with a box.
"Come on," he says. "We're upgrading your computer."
I look up from the screen where I'm monitoring three channels simultaneously—#mp3, #warez, #kaos. "Upgrading what?"
"Modem, RAM, bigger hard drive. Maybe a better sound card if we can fit it in." He sets the box on my bed. "You said you're downloading music, right? Need the space for it."
An hour later, I've got a 28.8k modem, 24MB of RAM, a 1.2GB hard drive, and a Sound Blaster 16 card.
"Thanks, Dad."
He picks up the old modem, turns it over in his hands. "You know, when I was your age, I took apart every gizmo in the house trying to understand how they worked. Drove your grandmother crazy."
He sets it down. "You remember when I used to take you to work with me? Had you clip components off old circuit boards?"
"Oh my god, yeah. Those little transistor things. I thought I was helping."
He grins. "You were organizing them by size for like two hours at a time."
"Wait—was I actually helping though?"
"Not even a little bit." He laughs. "I just needed you occupied while I worked. Figured if I gave you real tools and let you take things apart, you'd feel like you were learning something."
"I can't believe you had me doing completely pointless work."
He gestures at my computer setup. "Turns out taking things apart and putting them back together really can become a career. Just... try to keep your grades up while you figure it out, yeah?"
"I will."
---
Thursday night. "Seinfeld's on!" Dad's voice from downstairs.
I look at the clock. 8:03pm. Thursday. Must See TV.
I finish typing a response to JaXx, then log off. Head downstairs.
The living room is the warmest room in the house. Dad in his recliner, Mom on the couch with a stack of file folders on the coffee table in front of her—she'd just gotten home from work twenty minutes ago. The TV glows blue in the dim light.
Kramer slides into Jerry's apartment. The studio audience erupts.
I drop onto the couch next to Mom. She smiles at me, sets down the folder she'd been reviewing.
"Long day?" she asks.
"Yeah. School was... school. You?"
"Crazy. But it's Thursday." She gestures at the TV. "Best part of the week."
On screen, Jerry is explaining something to Elaine with that exasperated expression he does so well. Dad laughs—his real laugh, the one that makes his whole face crinkle up.
"I love that guy," Dad says. "Nobody delivers a line like Seinfeld."
George appears, complaining about something trivial with complete conviction. Mom shakes her head, grinning.
"He's pathetic," she says.
"That's the whole point," I say.
"I know. That's why it works."
We all laugh.
For thirty minutes, I'm not thinking about IRC. Not thinking about channel operations or scripts or maintaining my lies. I'm just... here. With my parents. Watching a show we all love.
Kramer does something physical and ridiculous. Dad laughs so hard he has to wipe his eyes. Mom is laughing too, the kind of genuine laugh I don't hear from her often enough—she's always so busy, always taking care of something or someone.
But she stops for this. We all do.
"I'm going to miss this show when it ends," Mom says quietly.
The episode builds to its climax—some ridiculous convergence of the four plotlines that shouldn't work but does. The timing is perfect. The writing is perfect. The audience roars.
I feel warm. Safe. Connected to these two people in this room.
The credits roll. That bass line. The theme song.
Dad stands, stretches. "Well, that's that. I've got some stuff to take care of."
Mom glances at her watch. "I need to make a couple calls before it gets too late."
They disperse. The ritual complete. The spell broken.
I stand up.
"Night, honey," Mom says, gathering her folders.
"Night."
I climb the stairs to my room. Close the door. Sit down at the computer.
The screen flickers to life. I launch mIRC. Type the connect command.
The familiar text scrolls past. Server connection established. Channels loading.
I on my shit joined #kaos
I pull the keyboard closer.
The screen freezes.
Cursor won't move. The IRC text sits there, frozen mid-word.
Keys pressed—nothing. Ctrl-Alt-Del—nothing.