[SteeZ] yo join #goodmonin2ya
[SKa] whats that?
[SteeZ] private channel. just me and spacegoat. coordinating ops, building tools, no bullshit. think youd fit
I join the channel. Three users: SteeZ, SpaceGoat, SKa.
I smile. Inside joke I'm not part of yet, but they're letting me in. That's what this invitation means—not just access to a channel, but access to their history. Their crew.
A DCC file transfer request from SteeZ appears. Picture file. I accept it.
The image loads slowly—a window view. Brick buildings, fire escapes, urban density.
There it is.
I've lied to Kaos. To the #mp3 crew. To everyone on IRC. But this feels different.
SpaceGoat has given me shell access—trusted me with root on university systems. SteeZ has invited me to their private operation. We're actually working together, not just trading favors.
Tell the truth and lose everything? Or keep lying to people who might actually become real friends?
SpaceGoat creates #testground on EFNet. Empty channel. Just for us.
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We join. Three users in an empty channel. SpaceGoat has auto-ops since he created it.
SteeZ ops SpaceGoat's bot. The bot ops SteeZ's bot. Four operators in under two seconds.
We run it five more times. By the sixth run, we're under one second.
That's it. Each of us brings something different. SpaceGoat has the infrastructure and bots. SteeZ has the scripts and knowledge. I have timing and the willingness to learn.
No hierarchy. No ego. Just three people learning together.
We keep coordinating. SteeZ is explaining botnet linking strategies when—
Click. Modem screech. Connection dies.
Mom picks up the phone downstairs.
Panic.
"Dinner is on the table."
Crap.
"I'll be right down!"
"Now, please!"
Ugh. I acquiesce and go downstairs.
After dinner, I sit on the floor in the living room, back against the couch. Mom and Dad on the couch behind me. The Seinfeld finale on TV.
The episode ends with a montage — the Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer in scenes I have memorized — stitched together while Green Day's Good Riddance plays. The same characters I've been watching since I was six years old.
"Can you believe it's been nine years?" Mom says.
"Nine years," Dad says. "Wild."
Credits roll.
I sit there for a moment with tears in my eyes. Yadda yadda yadda. That's it.
I head back upstairs, a bit out of sorts emotionally, and reconnect to IRC.
[SpaceGoat] ska: you there?
[SKa] yeah sorry. phone line. roommate situation
[SteeZ] that sucks man
[SpaceGoat] yeah
Brief pause. They don't push it. But I see it—they've noticed. Another crack in the adult lie.
Adults have dedicated lines. Or they're on shells 24/7 where it doesn't matter. Shared phone line problems are... teenage problems.
Filed away. Not questioned. Not yet.
On the shell, my bot is running. On my Linux machine, BitchX is connected. On DalNet, my old channels are still there.
Building infrastructure across networks. Building relationships across the country.
All of it on a foundation of lies.

