The mood in the PC bangs and gaming rooms was bleak when I finally found them, with many screens switched off and still more blinking urgently, error massages cascaden. Still the small corner of connectivity on the side of the building facing the wharves and the river was pleasant enough for 3am, and about twenty hackers were there, feeding tubenews into their headsets, assembling and deploying scripts for the Korean diaspora, the frightened sons and daughters of the educational revolution. Your connection there with fellow students from Daegu, faces that seemed familar than they really were, under the grey glowing lights of screentalk. Logging on to one of the non-commercial news sites, I sat back for a moment and breathed in the smoke as I waited for the myriade of flash animators to load, reminding me, as it always did, of birds who pick insects off the backs of larger animals. When prompted for my subscription barcode, I thought for a moment and then opened a new screen, calling up our private site, invisible beneath the radar of cross-border security. Three new posts. I sighed with relief.