Bon, c’est l’histoire du blog du présumé auteur de la leak d’half life.
Son Blog est linké depuis pas mal d’endroits, slashdotté à mort.
Donc dur à atteindre :
" Dans le cadre de cette affaire, le domicile d’un habitant de
la ville de San Francisco aurait été perquisitionné par le FBI. Les
agents envoyés sur les lieux auraient saisi neuf ordinateurs ainsi que
d’autres équipements. Le FBI serait donc en train de passer à l’action
envers toute personne susceptible de s’être connecté à internet avec
une adresse IP ayant un rapport proche ou lointain avec le réseau
informatique interne ou externe de la société Valve Software. Selon le
site internet Hungry Programmers page , d’autres personnes auraient eu
leur domicile perquisitionné le 14 Janvier 2004. " (l’article de présence-PC)
L’adresse est là, je retranscris :
http://squeedlyspooch.com/blog/archives/000072.html
[i]
The whole surreal story
So at 6:30am on January 14th, I woke up to the doorbell buzzing.
Not a short lived buzz. Someone had their thumb pressing the button and
holding it there. “Fucking drunkard” I thought, and rolled over, intent
on ignoring it. It then started a rythmic buzz buzz buzz buzz,
over and over again. After about 5 minutes battling to get back to
sleep, I gave up and got up. Put my pants on, grabbed my sweatshirt,
and stumbled off toward the door.
As I walked down the steps I heard them talking to the nextdoor
neighbor, asking him where the landlord lived. I reach the door just as
the neighbor’s door closes. I compose myself to deal with whatever is
behind the door, and open it.
Immediately there’s a flashlight in my eyes. “Are you Chris
Toshok?” “Uh, yes” “Mr. Toshok, we’re with the FBI. We have a warrant
to search the premises.” I looked down out of the glare of the
flashlight and saw the FBI badge of the long haired blonde woman
standing in front of me. I also saw two people behind her, bodies
turned sideways so as to present less of a target. Guns drawn? It was
too hard to tell really with the glare of the flashlight, but I’m
assuming yes.
I mumbled something about turning on the light so I could see the
warrant (pages 1 2 3 4 5)they’d thrust into my hands and turned and
groped on the wall for the switch. They all tensed. The light came on,
and I looked over the warrant for a second.
“Please come out here Mr. Toshok,” and a hand on my arm pulling me
onto the porch. Once I was out on the porch several agents started up
the stairs. I said that my roommate was still asleep in bed. They asked
his name, I said “Peter”. They continued up the steps, yelling his
name. “Peter, this is the FBI.” “PETER” “PETER, are you awake? this is
the FBI”
I didn’t watch it happen but apparently Peter awoke, naked, to a
doorway full of FBI agents with guns out, yelling at him to get up. He
asked if he could get some clothes on. They said yes. He asked if they
could turn on the light so he could see. So Peter got to get dressed
under the watchful gaze of government employees. Must have been fun.
They took Peter to the back of the house, and took me back upstairs
to the front of the house, and proceeded to start going through
everything in my room and the office.
I was questioned by the FBI agent in charge and a Secret Service
agent at length about the Hungry Programmers, people I used to live
with, whether particular people had the capacity/knowledge to do what
they were investigating, etc. During the questioning she says “Now
we’re going to take all your computers.” She sees the look on my face
and says “Yeah, this is going to be hard for you.” I said “uh, when
will I get them back?” She said it depends, that they’d try to have
them all back as soon as possible, but it depends on if they find
anything suspicious on them. If they found contraband (kiddie porn,
talk of drugs, or stuff they were actually looking for), that
particular computer would never be coming home.
After the questioning I basically sat in the front room on a folded
futon mattress, with at least one agent with me at all times. Sometimes
two. At one point I said I really needed to brush my teeth and the SS
agent assigned to me at the time walked with me back to the bathroom
and stood behind me watching me in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. On
my way back down the hall I looked into my room and saw 3 FBI agents
rifling through my belongings. One looking at the condoms and stickers
in my nightstand, one going through my underwear/sock drawer, and one
looking through my books.
After a lot more sitting in silence in that room, interspersed with
tidbits of conversation (an fbi agent asking me about the guitars,
talking about the piano lessons in his youth, and how he was kicked in
the chest by a horse.) I must say, the SS agents were a lot nicer than
the FBI agents. One in particular was pretty cool - we joked a lot
about just how absurd the whole thing was… He asked how I was doing, I
said I’d had better mornings, to which he responded “well you’ll
definitely have one unique experience more than most people.” I
definitely have to agree. I know of very few others that have been
through something like this. The blonde FBI agent was nice (and
annoying) enough to tell me repeatedly that the judge would go easier
on me (and they could all go home earlier) if I would just tell them
where the stuff was. If I had it, of course. But if I denied having it,
they’d really throw the book at me when they found it.
After more waiting, the FBI agent in charge comes into the room and
explains that they aren’t actually pressing charges against me, so I’m
not being detained. I can leave if I want, or walk around the house,
etc. This is a relief. I go grab my shoes and socks (my feet were
freezing by this time). After a few more minutes of listening to the
bumbling idiots in the next room arguing over how to turn off my
machines, I decide a walk might be nice. I say I’m leaving to go walk
around, that I’ll be back to look over the list of equipment they’re
seizing. I ask if they’ll let me take my cell phone so they can call me
if I need to be back, etc… They said no. I wasn’t to take any property
off the premises. Luckily, I still had my car keys. I walked over to my
car and drove off.
Drove around for a while, then decided I’d stop by Seth’s house and
tell him what was going on. Davel answered the door, bleary-eyed. I
apologized for waking him up… I said “I would have called, but the FBI
wouldn’t let me use my cell phone.” He said “what???”… I handed him
the search warrant. He said “ohhh, god, come in.” and walked me up the
stairs.
I broke the news to Seth and he looked as shocked as I felt when I
opened the door at 6:30. Got on ICB and spread the word that the wolves
were circling, and everyone pretty well freaked out.
I hung out with them for a while, then figured I’d better be
getting back so I got back in the car and returned home. It was
probably around 10am at this point. 3.5 hours into the raid. I got
there as agents were walking laps up and down the outside steps,
carrying full boxes of my possessions into their van. I was too late to
go over the actual stuff they were confiscating. suck. I walked
upstairs, and found the long haired blonde agent and the (admittedly
very cute) asian evidence photographer still there, finishing up.
Taking photos of the rooms in their condition post-raid, writing down
which exposures corresponded to which room.
The blonde agent handed me the seizure receipt to look over and
sign. It looked ok to me, but I really had no idea at the time that
some items they’d taken weren’t on the list.
We joked with the agents some before they left. Asked them for
their business cards, which they declined to give us, saying they would
likely be plastered all over the web. Wise women. We asked if we could
get a picture of them or their badges, which they also denied us. Too
bad. Peter walked them to the steps, and I walked into the office to
assess the emptiness.
There were a few times in college when the computer labs would be
closed during the day, due to a bomb threat or a gas leak or whatever.
When this happened all the geeks would wander around outside, eyes
squinting in the unaccustomed glare of the mid-day sun, looking like
zombies. You could always spot a geek on such a day by the way they
walked with a certain slowness in their step. Not a leisure slowness, a
dead slowness.
Today was like that for me. I’d lost upwards of 9 machines, and
lots of misc equipment besides. Machines that, according to most people
familiar with this stuff, I may as well write off as gone regardless of
whether or not they ever find anything on them. Thankfully there were
many people around that were willing and able to find the humor in such
a preposterous day. I’ve been running on laughter all day, unwilling to
think about the fact that this all might end with me in court, or even
in jail. I mean, I did nothing illegal, how can I end up in jail? Leila
forced me to at least acknowledge the gravity of what was going on, but
thankfully didn’t force me to dwell on it. I’m hoping I can keep myself
laughing about it all until I pass out. The drinking might start rather
early tomorrow.
I don’t think the word “surreal” ever described a day better for me.
Posted by toshok at January 15, 2004 01:59 AM
[/i]
Je pense qu’un truc comme ça ça se locke vite ou ça s’efface si ça
dérape, je n’ai aucune opinion de si ce gars a fait du bien ou du mal
au jeu video si jamais il est coupable, c’est juste que le témoignage
de l’intro “FBI” me plait assez (le bonhomme a pu écrire ceci tout de
même).
Merci
Ce message a été édité par good_boy le 20/01/2004