An Open Door


Whereupon we get introduced to our main characters, reflect upon the ease by which skids could cause trouble, and ruminate on the morality of ethically motivated gray-hat hacking,

I texted 8bit as soon as I arrived at the front door of his apartment; the bottom floor of a creaky blue two-family house between Harvard and Alewife. He often wore noise-cancelling headphones while coding, and both knocking and shouting had proven ineffective at getting his attention. Fortunately I’d only had to climb in through his window once, when a cold New England winter day had depleted my phone.

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