#SuperHackers

[pinkbirdie]

Kissed on their one year anniversary

PDA i need not say more

Don't leave them alone

[surfeit-of-stoats]

going to the beach would fix me. that would fix me right now. unfortunately.

[optibis12]

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[optibisid]

Kenapa sih sebegitu pentingnya posting reels di Instagram?

[optibisku]

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digitalmarketing #fypシ #tiktokads #googleads #belajaronline#fbads #superhacks #igads #samasamabelajar #serunyabelajar #julydump #agustus #17agustus

[optibis-id]

OPTIBIS.ID jasa digital agency

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[befuddled-calico-whump]

Jericho's background:

Jericho comes from a big, tight-knit family. Since childhood, he's been a huge robotics nerd, though he had no patience for the coding aspect of it as a teenager. His intellect earned him a full ride though a pretty decent university, and he decided to major in computer science, figuring it was a good way to make money. His first coding class opened his eyes to the possibilities. It was like everything suddenly clicked.

Getting past the tip of the iceberg of coding culture, Jericho discovered ethical hacking. As a fairly compassionate person who wanted to make a difference, he was all in. He started small; redirecting from shady politician's websites to a rickroll, or filling corporate datasites with harmless bugs.

But playing nice didn't seem to change much. When a mega-corporation's poorly-made formula got hundreds of kids in his city sick and they still dodged a lawsuit, Jericho didn't hold back. 

He set a virus on the company that practically destroyed their servers, complete with a bug that corrupted any attempts at communication between employees. Along with that, he left a pretty clear message. “Apologize to the public and compensate the families or I will destroy you.”

They complied after only a few hours, and Jericho learned the power he truly held.

For the next decade or so, he launched similar projects. By day he worked IT for a small tech upstart, but in his spare time he was a code-wielding Robin Hood.

It wasn't until he tried to hack the FBI—in order to access files on a missing child that they were trying to pretend didn't exist—that Jericho was finally caught.

He came quietly, not wanting to cause a scene in front of his young daughter or mother.

Further research from the prosecutors uncovered more of Jericho's handiwork, and a secretive organization quickly took over his case, offering a clean slate if he worked for them.

Jericho Davis, a dad, but like, a cool dad. Huge computer nerd. Didn't start coding until his mid-twenties but quickly discovered it was his calling. Believes crime is actually okay, sometimes, but has a stronger moral backbone than most nuns. Dresses like he's IT. He technically is IT, but he's also strong enough to pick up an entire office's worth of IT guys and yeet them across the room.

[aingeal98]

your posts about babs just made me miss who she used to be. the absolute queen had 0 regards for law, hacked into every device in existence, had freaking nuclear codes, casually overthrowing government, could probably command all armies in the world, and having more power and influence than like... literally any organization. i would bet jla is less politically influential. she was this myth, a superhacker people arent sure is real. or maybe its a group. an ai, perhaps?

but now? dicks gf who is good with computers ig. oh and she also can walk because fuck you, she needs to put on spandex and be another bat.

Too real like we lost so much. We used to have this.

And this

And it got replaced by this

"Besides being illegal you lied to us how could you?" Do you know who Barbara Gordon is. Do you know what she's capable of. In what universe does Dinah get mad about basic Oracle illegal shit and in what universe does Babs respond to that anger so meekly. Those are not the birds of prey those are the birds of professional character assassination.

[toskarin]

nasu magically summoning superhackers to remove all mention of him having a wife who loves curry from everywhere except for the english fan community

[decapod-appreciator]

this is the first ive heard of miss babs and she already fascinates me (one of my favs is also a redhead called oracle that may have an association with binary code). unfortunately i do not know much about dc. do you know where i can learn more about her?

I love Babs so much and I am always so willing to talk about her here’s a quick rundown

-Barbara Gordon was the first Batgirl. She’s the niece (or daughter depending on what era) of the commissioner of Gotham City. When she was first introduced in the comics she was insanely popular, to the point she nearly got her own show.

-In a comic called the Killing Joke, she’s shot in the spine by the Joker and paralyzed waist down. It’s a whole Comic Misogyny to Further A Man’s Development Thing, and it kinda sucked. BUT.

-she was brought back into the comics as Oracle, a sort of international superhacker and informant. She’s a wheelchair user, so to get stuff done she forms the Birds of Prey, initially consisting of just herself and Black Canary, but eventually gaining a rotating cast of other members.

I find her really interesting, particularly because of her distancing herself from Batman and becoming her own hero, and partially because it’s honestly the only time I can think of a woman getting pseudo-fridged and then coming back even cooler and more independent + interesting. I also enjoy that her main team is almost 100% women exclusive, so even when they’re dooing kind of schlocky supperhero action, it’s at least slightly interesting. Her relationship with her teammates, particularly Black Canary, Huntress and Lady Blackhawk is really sweet as well.

if you wanna read comics with her, i recommend 1999 Birds of Prey, particularly the stuff by Gail Simone, and Oracle: Year one.

[fabioafterdark]

my bf is always so impressed when i manage to find obscure tv shows on dodgy streaming websites.... he thinks im some kind of superhacker but all i do is have an adblocker and search the name of the episode plus "watch free online" and go through the results until one of them works

[wrdlbrmpfd]

I’m getting more and more frustrated with every new episode of Countdown. The writing feels lazy, there’s no real tension or suspense, and the characters are flat and uninteresting. Jensen is doing what he can, but if the goal is to make him look like he has a permanent migraine, people are going to tune out fast. This is no 24, not even close. What do you think?

Oh, my opinion about the show formed after the trailer dropped and I wasn't even half through the first episode when I knew that it won't get better plot or acting wise.

I remember watching Chicago Fire back then and really liked the show, the characters were laid out with depth despite it being an action show about fire fighters. I tried the spinoff Chicago PD but it didn't catch me. It's sheer unbelieveable that both shows are from the same guy who wrote "Countdown". Maybe "wrote" isn't the right word for this Copaganda action thingy with a soap opera terminal diagnosis character, thrown in random songs and the acting level of scripted reality shows somehow mixed together.

The characters are that flat and uninteresting that I watched 5 episodes now and besides Jensen's Mark Meachum and Eric Dane's Blythe (do we know his first name?) I don't know any other team member's name. There's the latina "badass" which probably is intended to be Mark's love interest at a point but there's no chemistry at all. Then the male latino whose only task seems to be waving his FBI badge around. Then there's the silent giant who falls up the background and his single purpose seems to be that of a tool that comes in handy when there are doors to kick in. And finally the geek chick Mrs Superhacker. All of them are boring and easily replaceable.

Yes, mostly to blame is the bad writing but let's be real here. None of the afore mentioned team members is played by a decent actor which would be able to own the character and at least give the character some personality. But all I see is wooden and/or histrionic (over)acting.

I simply watch it because Jensen looks hot. 😎

[poppyandzena]

do you know who Poppys new girlfriend is?

I don’t, and I don't think anyone who isn't Poppy or her friends know. We're not superhackers or PI, nor do we have the bandwidth to find out who this girlfriend is when everyone in the world knew it wasn't going to last long.

Consider me amused because no one has lifted a finger. Poppy's relationship being nuked was entirely her fault. If her job's on the line again, that's on her for canceling sessions because of her unmanaged emotions. If she's broke, then it's on her for buying thousands of dollars worth of porn and the attention of Only Fans models who do not give a shit about her rather than investing that money in anything worthwhile. Poppy is very self-sustaining in her failure.

If I had to guess, maybe her girlfriend became aware of her online reputation. Search her handle and this blog is near the top. Poppy has not made it difficult when it comes to finding out what she has done to other people.

[optibis12]

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[bloomfish]

my goth step sibling always puts weird crime stuff on their christmas wishlists lol, anyway I was looking through one of the websites (which didn't even let me purchase their gift from outside the US) and there's a 'restricted items' section where you have to request permission to buy the items. i'm assuming this is because they're basically illegal to own lol, anyway the restricted items seem to be mostly keys (i assume master keys for breaking into places) and also you can buy 'remote support' which im imagining to be a team of superhackers that you can hire for a few hours lol. what a world

anyway idk what half of that stuff is. but it's almost as fascinating to look through as a legal wigs online shop which i actually look at every so often haha. for just £550 you could have your very own barrister's wig.

[mariacallous]

That violent nullity James Bond having long outlived his creator, it has fallen to an interesting gang of alpha novelists and superhacks to keep him busy: since the death of Ian Fleming in 1964, more than 20 new Bond books have been written. The latest of them, Jeffery Deaver’s Carte Blanche, was published this year, and as recently as 2008, Bond nuts were solemnly delighted—or I was, anyway—by Sebastian Faulks’s even-better-than-the-real-thing novel, Devil May Care, which featured a partially lobotomized lead goon and a villain with a main de singe,or “monkey hand” (hairy wrist, non-opposable thumb).

Perhaps the most rewarding of the pseudo-Flemings, however, has been Kingsley Amis, whose Colonel Sun appeared in 1968 under the nom de plume Robert Markham. Amis’s Bond, while retaining the familiar psychopath’s obsession with menus, tailoring, and branded goods—“Bond almost felt relaxed, finding the charcoal-grilled lamb cutlets with bitter local spinach very acceptable”—is also a suspiciously Kingsley-esque conservative, deploring newly built houses and the rise of a “vast undifferentiated culture, one complex of super-highways, hot-dog stands and neon … stretching from Los Angeles to Jerusalem.” Amis would maintain a fierce moral allegiance to 007. Decades later, upon learning that John le Carré had described Bond as an “ideal defector” and “the ultimate prostitute,” he vented in a letter to Philip Larkin: le Carré’s comment was a “piece of bubbling dogshit,” he wrote, adding that he preferred Bond to the “dull fuckers” of le Carré’s own fiction.

George Smiley, le Carré’s enduring gift to the literature of espionage, is, of course, the anti-Bond. Across the sequence of novels in which he appears, peripherally or centrally, this secret servant of Her Majesty (like Bond, he works for British Intelligence, known in le Carré world as “the Circus”) is discreet to the point of self-erasure. Bureaucratically dowdy, rarely spotted in the field, a dull fucker by both instinct and training, Smiley drops no one-liners, romances no tarot-card readers, roars no speedboats through the Bayou. Bond has his ultraviolence and his irresistibility, his famous “comma of black hair”; Smiley has his glasses, his habit of cleaning them with the fat end of his tie, and not much else. There is a cultivated blandness to him, a deliberate vagueness of outline that at times recalls G. K. Chesterton’s Father Brown—the little priest’s alertness to sin replaced, in Smiley’s case, by an extraordinary memory and a profound knowledge of “tradecraft.” Smiley is also a cuckold of near-mythic proportions: his wife, the glamorous and rarely-at-home Lady Ann, seems to sleep with everybody but him. (She has doubtless slept at least once with James Bond: he’s just her type.) When John le Carré dies, there will be no pseudo–le Carrés, rotating the clichés of Smileydom through their potboilers. Not only is le Carré more or less inimitable—less imitable, certainly, than Ian Fleming, whose style was essentially that of a school bully with a typewriter—but Smiley himself is too elusive a creature to be captured by any pen other than that of his creator.

News late last year of a movie adaptation of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy—the greatest of the Smiley novels—caused me to salivate mentally. Gary Oldman as Smiley? John Hurt as Control, the withered, irascible Circus chief? Colin Firth playing someone, anyone at all? The juices of anticipation squirted in my brain. In the autumn of 1979, every Briton with access to a television set was watching, with avidity and occasional bewilderment, the BBC’s gloomy, labyrinthine Tinker, Tailor miniseries—not least because, as le Carré modestly reminds us in his introduction to the latest edition of Smiley’s People, “the only independent channel in those days obligingly staged a strike and for six precious weeks the entire British viewing public had to choose between BBC1 and BBC2.” There were other reasons, too, for the general enthrallment. Anthony Blunt, a much-garlanded art historian and the Surveyor of the Queen’s Pictures, had just been exposed as a former Soviet spy, part of the Philby/Burgess/Maclean ring. Thus did current affairs conspire to lend a more-than-usual piquancy to le Carré’s vision of an Establishment honeycombed with treachery. In Tinker, Tailor, George Smiley is prodded out of retirement to unmask the mole who sits at the Circus’s top table: Is it busybody Percy Alleline? Roy Bland, “the shop-soiled white hope”? Dashing Bill Haydon? Or the Hungarian, Toby Esterhase? Alec Guinness, playing Smiley (25 years removed from playing Father Brown in The Detective), blinked myopically and carried inscrutable wounds. Around him at the Circus were men both loud and furtive in their natures, swaggering and self-concealing, as if simply to be born into the British ruling class was to sign up for a lifelong career as a double agent.

There had been other screen Smileys—Rupert Davies gave him a bluff inhumanity in The Spy Who Came In From the Cold, and James Mason drawled James Masonically and rather ineffectually through Sidney Lumet’s The Deadly Affair—but Guinness’s became at a stroke the definitive performance. Guinness-as-Smiley was monkish, fastidious, almost prim, bestowing here and there the faint, equivocal benediction of his Smiley smile. He had a doughiness of feature and a plumminess of tone. He moved as if he were wearing three overcoats. In restaurants he looked inexpressibly pained, but if you mentioned his wife his face would register nothing at all. Guinness’s only rival to date for the role has been Simon Russell Beale—the voice of a hooded, magnetic Smiley in a recent series of BBC radio plays.

The new model of Tinker, Tailor—opening in the U.S. in December—is, for me, problematic. Director Tomas Alfredson, previously known for the well-regarded vampire flick Let the Right One In, has reduced the already low pulse of the BBC version to a throb of nearly reptilian thrill-lessness. Which would be fine, except that much of the distinctive le Carré atmosphere has also floated away. Circus HQ, for example, in the novels a warren of pokey corridors with London traffic-grunt coming in through the windows, is rendered by Alfredson as a kind of totalitarian Reading Room, a soaring industrial/cerebral space in which ranks of eavesdroppers and codebreakers clack at their machines, and meetings are conducted in soundproofed cubes. It’s a chillier spy world, with wider gaps between people. The center of gravity provided in the novel by the Establishment, the clubbable Old Boys in their smotheringly furnished rooms—burgundy carpets, burgundy faces, overstuffed men in overstuffed chairs—has gone. Gone too is the heavy fellowship and ghastly heartiness, the endless belaboring of Smiley with the long syllable of his first name: Oh really, George!, George, you must see …, How’s the lovely Ann, George? Now they all communicate in leers of mutual suspicion: a Scandinavian reboot has occurred. Was the Cold War really this cold?

Oldman-as-Smiley, meanwhile, is blanker, harsher-voiced, impenetrable behind the huge reflective panels of his glasses. The wan little smile has become a grimace. Twice we accompany him in the laborious meditation of his early-morning swim in the Thames, watch him pushing pale-shouldered through the tea-colored water—to what end? We cannot possibly guess what he’s thinking. No clue! Smiley’s understatement has been overstated.

It’s very 2011, I suppose, to rub away the interpersonal texture and crank up the anomie. Didn’t the Bond franchise give it a go in 2006’s Casino Royale? Daniel Craig as a harder, icier Bond, hacking his ethically unencumbered way across a borderless post-9/11 globe … To strip down or minimalize le Carré, however, is to sacrifice the almost Tolkienesque grain and depth of his created world: the decades-long backstory, the lingo, the arcana, the liturgical repetitions of names and functions. Did you know that it was John le Carré who introduced the word mole (for “double agent”) into English? Also honey trap? He has enriched the language itself—a claim not even the most devoted Bondian, not Kingsley Amis himself, could make for Ian Fleming.