The Lattepunk Reloaded II
Lattepunk
I unexpectedly took a week off and I’m not going to lie reader, it felt good! But with the holiday behind us, I’m back to the grind of putting words on a blank void. But before I do that, I want to highlight something.
Paresh Dave over at WIRED wrote a piece that immediately grabbed my attention. It talks about the type of data Google can get from the photos you upload to their services. It’s ultimately a marketing stunt to get you to switch to a privacy respecting service by Ente, but damn if it didn’t work! Well...not on me! I’m an offline, own your data kind of guy, but the point still stands. The website is They See Your Photos and highly recommend you try it yourself. If you’re the type that’s like “I’m afraid what I might learn”, then reader...grow up. They’re already doing this, might as well see what they are capable of.
With that out of the way, back to our normal programming. If you didn’t read this newsletter, it’s with the same character. A different part of the overall story. Enjoy!
seconda scena
It’s easy to get in where you don’t belong. Just a little makeup, a little charm, and no bouncer can resist. But with these types of guys, the makeup is optional.
The dimly lit bar smells of booze and cigarettes. Although I’ve never been to this one, it seems like every other low level hole in the wall. Why can’t gang bars ever smell like flowers? The scenery isn’t why I’m here. Just need the intel.
The bar on the left side has some guys hovering over a group of girls, presumable showing off to ensure they get a fresh lay tonight. I can sit on the far side of them and get what I came here for. Besides, the other bar closer to the dance floor is packed.
The lack of music speakers makes it easier to be alert of surroundings. It’s not hard to find trouble in places like these. Would take a lunatic to walk into gang’s favorite dive bar looking for trouble. I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures.
I take a seat at the corner of the bar. Try to keep an eye on the place while I get what I need. The bartender promptly walks over. I quickly notice his cybernetic eye. Cheap, too easy to tell. He tosses a coaster in front of me. Who knew this place had manners!
“The music is on the network. It’s called ‘thursdayPlaylist’, should be the first one. What can I get you to drink sweetheart?"
His voice is modded too. I wonder what other tech he uses. Surely he’s using that cybereye to scan any hardware I have installed. He’s definitely using his regular eye to scan my chest. Even when they enhance themselves...so predictable. “Any IPA is fine.” I try to sound disinterested, but it sounds to me too much of an imitation of someone being disinterested. I don’t want to stand out more than I already do. I’m hoping the ripped jean shorts over my leggings with a my leather jacket would blend me in as a local. But he seems to wait a bit too long to reply. They can’t be voice scanning in here, could they!?
His faintly tuned voice finally breaks the stand still, “Alrighty”. He turns to get my beer, I let out the faintest sigh of relief. I least I hope it was faint. I took a stimulant as directed by a friend. My nerves should be relaxed by now. These next moments will be key.
I need to break into their main network while making it seem like I’m connected through their stupid playlist network. The Demon Ravers aren’t know for being high tech. Drugs and guns are their thing. So unless they hired a professional, this network shouldn’t take too long.
I pull up the network and my programs via my cybereyes. Outside a few flickers, no one will know that I’m rummaging through looking for any information that could help. Lucky for me, my hunch on their tech skills were spot on. By hunch I mean the scouting I’ve done and the few attempts at breaking in remotely. Unfortunate for me, it’s so bad that I had to get into it locally, hence why I’m sitting in a bar surrounded with a bunch of lowlifes.
My programs will take some time to run. Scanning the system, cross referencing software versions with known vulnerabilities, any open ports to hijack, it all takes some time. Never as fast as the TV makes it seem. The place is getting fuller, I notice when I periodically check my surroundings. No one seems to notice what’s happening. A nice, normal night out.
After a bit of time, the bartender returns with my beer. I ask, “What wallet am I sending it to?”
“It’s on me beautiful.”
The voice catches me off guard. I turn over my right shoulder and see a Raver standing there, smiling at me. The LED earring flashing every color imaginable is a dead give away.
I’m caught aback. “I’ve never seen you around here. What brings you out tonight?”
“Just having a few drinks. Meeting a friend.” I just need to stall for time. I remember to smile.
“Yeah! Is she as pretty as you? I got some friends that she can meet.”
Whatever happen to chivalry? Not even asking for my name. Do all the girls fall for this stuff here? Let me not forget to smile. “She’s prettier!” Should I giggle? I should giggle.
“OH! So we in for a good night.” He waves over some more of his goons. “Stevie! Get around for my boys here.” I forgot to giggle.
As the goons surround me, my eyes flickering catches my attention. Judging by the color, this isn’t good. No progress being made and getting in the scenario I’m in isn’t helping. I need to figure both of these things out. Fast.
“So where’s this friend of yours?”
“Does she come here often? I’ve never seen you before cutie.”
I answer back, “Let me message her and see where she is.” I take a sip of my beer. Coming off casual is paramount here. Need to keep it together to see this through.
As I’m faking out a message to my make believe friend, I’m actually checking the error logs and trying to get my programs on the right track. My time has been abruptly shortened and I can’t leave without the intel.
A message pops up on my internal display:
new message: who r u
new message: how u get on dis net?
things i read since you’ve been gone
The Technology the Trump Administration Could Use to Hack Your Phone | Ronan Farrow for The New Yorker
How Mark Zuckerberg has fully rebuilt Meta around Llama | Sharon Goldman for Fortune
The World’s Biggest EV Maker Has the Industry’s Worst Human Rights Appraisal | Carlton Reid for WIRED
Why so many families are “drowning in toys” | Anna North for Vox
The Future of Online Privacy Hinges on Thousands of New Jersey Cops | Paresh Dave for WIRED
Russian Spies Jumped From One Network to Another Via Wi-Fi in an Unprecedented Hack | Andy Greenberg for WIRED
Neuralink Plans to Test Whether Its Brain Implant Can Control a Robotic Arm | Emily Mullin for WIRED
Tether Has Become a Massive Money Laundering Tool for Mexican Drug Traffickers, Feds Say | Joseph Cox for 404 Media
Enslaved on OnlyFans: Women describe lives of isolation, torment and sexual servitude | Linda So, Andrew R.C. Marshall, Luiza Ilie and Jason Szep for Reuters
Emerging Details of Chinese Hack Leave U.S. Officials Increasingly Concerned | David E. Sanger, Julian E. Barnes, Devlin Barrett and Adam Goldman for NY Times
Phone Maker Xiaomi Made the Car That Apple Couldn’t | Alistair Charlton for WIRED
Medicare Pays Wildly Different Prices for the Same Drug | Jared S. Hopkins and Josh Ulick for Wall Street Journal
Neo-Nazis Are on the March Across America | Tess Owen for WIRED
Bad Influence | Mia Sato for The Verge
CT man’s music journey ranges from hip-hop producer to mentor | Jessika Harkay for CT Mirror
Dying Is a Form of Education On Elden Ring | Gabriel Winslow-Yost for Harper’s Magazine
The cheat code 20 years later: Michael Vick's lasting Madden legacy | David Fleming for ESPN
Ozempic Could Crush the Junk Food Industry. But It Is Fighting Back. | Tomas Weber for NY Times
Malicious Ads in Search Results Are Driving New Generations of Scams | Lily Hay Newman for WIRED
U.S. Government Tries to Stop Data Brokers That Help Dox People Through Credit Data | Joseph Cox for 404 Media
Formaldehyde Increases Your Cancer Risk No Matter Where you Live | Sharon Lerner and Al Shaw for ProPublica
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