Anyone know of a way of ripping the videos from corridordigital.com? I have a subscription to this site actually but I'd like to be able to watch their videos on my TV or when I'm travelling and don't have a stable internet connection.

Hey,

I'm looking for an old portable software (Illustrator CC 2015.3.1 v20.1.0 x64 Portable by punsh)

Links I've found are off or torrents without seeder.

Anyone know another place where I can found it.

Thanks in advance,

Sometimes I’m just too lazy for torrenting because downloading whole 8 seasons when I want to watch series is kinda off. Whenever I give chance to streaming it’s always low quality and sucks. I checked streaming links on reddit’s r/piracy, you know the wiki, year is 2025 and it’s still slow and sucks. Maybe I don’t know good sites. Can you link me up, and what do you think about streaming vs torrent way in general? Thanks guys.

Seeing the official website states that the client is "barely supported," I'm wondering, is it worth using a different one?

Im obsessed with this game at barcades but its impossible to play at home. There is a shitty steam version that doesnt have online anymore. Since its an arcade cabinet im guessing they use a computer under the hood of some kind that has the game loaded.

How could one possibly get the game to play on a computer of some kind? Reverse engineering?

https://bumblebeargames.com/products/killer-queen

https://killerqueenarcade.com/

One of the rare Streaming site with schedule and most of Tv show up to date until ''srs'' come back

When Piracy Had a Kiosk at the Mall: Power Player Super Joy III

“You wouldn’t download a car, would you, fuckers?”

Okay, I would. Hell, I will the second someone makes it possible. But it turns out that the meme phrase came from a real anti-piracy ad campaign that tried to guilt-trip an entire generation. The original line was, “You wouldn’t steal a car.” Slapped onto a thousand DVDs like a pre-movie sermon, it played in the shadows of living rooms and late-night rentals. You wouldn’t steal a handbag. You wouldn’t steal a TV. You wouldn’t steal a movie.

You wouldn’t steal the socks from your best friend’s sister, then sniff ‘em and jerk off into them.

Except you would. Maybe. Well, at least I did. No kink-shame!

Apparently Yonatan Cohen didn’t really give to much credit to the feels of the anti-piracy campaign from the early 2000’s either. He went off and decided that a mall kiosk was the perfect place to go full Robin Hood.

Unfortunately for him, “The Man” doesn’t really love Robin Hood. In December 2004, the FBI raided two kiosks at the Mall of America in Minnesota and storage units tied to Cohen’s business, Perfect Deal LLC. They weren’t looking for drugs or guns.

They were hunting knockoff Nintendos. Specifically, the Power Player Super Joy III, a bootleg console shaped like a janky N64 controller, preloaded with 76 barely-legal NES games and marketed with subtle claims like "76,000 games in one!"

Cohen bought the knockoff rigs wholesale out of China for around $7 to $9 apiece. Then he flipped them in U.S. malls for $30 to $70. Pure capitalism, but not the suit-and-boardroom kind. This was capitalism with a folding table and a kiosk, a one-man supply chain trying to make rent while corporate America clutched its pearls.

It wasn’t subtle, but it was profitable. Each console contained copyrighted titles from Nintendo’s golden years, and selling them made Cohen a target.

The government didn’t just slap a fine on him. They made him an example. In April 2005, Cohen pleaded guilty to criminal copyright infringement. By November, he was sentenced to five years in federal prison, lost hundreds of thousands in property, and got the added humiliation of having to run mall magazine ads warning others about the crime of piracy. He had to pay for the ads as part of his restitution. His mug was in the ad. His crime laid out like a cautionary tale. It was digital pillory.

But here’s where the story gets a little warped. Cohen wasn’t a hacker. He wasn’t running around cracking encryption or spreading ransomware. He was selling plastic boxes full of 8-bit joy. Ancient (at the time) ROMs of Super Mario, Duck Hunt, Contra. The kind of stuff that’s been cloned, remixed, and uploaded to archive.org a thousand times over these days. Back then though, Nintendo’s legal team treated it like digital arson. (Actually Nintendo still does that, they go hard on pirates.) The feds rolled in like it was national security.

Nine days after Cohen’s guilty plea, the FBI busted four Chinese nationals connected to a much larger piracy ring and seized 60,000 more Power Player units from warehouses in New York and New Jersey. But Cohen was already cooked. He kind of became the poster child for IP enforcement.

What made him vulnerable was scale and visibility. He wasn’t hiding in darknet forums. He was out in the open, selling knockoff joypads to middle-class shoppers hunting for last-minute Christmas gifts. A digital gray-market peddler in the age of moral panic.

Was it legal? No. Was it theft? Well, that’s the real question.

In the same era, game companies were battling over clones. Games like Zuma versus Puzzloop, lawsuits about lookalike mechanics and half-borrowed sprites. A lawyer named Gregory Boyd wrote that copyright law covers not just the idea of a game but the way it looks, plays, and feels.

Which is fine on paper. But when you apply that hammer to a guy selling 20-year-old games out of a folding table in a mall, it starts to feel a little like overkill.

Cohen didn’t invent piracy. He didn’t build the Super Joy III. He just sold it. But he was the one in arm’s reach, and the ad campaign was already rolling. You wouldn’t steal a car, remember?

What he did wrong, more than anything, was give people access. Unauthorized, unlicensed, dirt-cheap access. The same thing millions of us were doing in silence with LimeWire, torrents, and burned CDs. He just did it where the FBI could see him.

Five years. For selling childhood. For selling nostalgia.

That’s the part no one wants to talk about. This wasn’t about protecting code. It was about protecting control. Yonatan Cohen broke the unwritten rule of the digital age: you can steal, but you better not get caught making it easy for others. Unless you’re on Wall Street.

And yeah, maybe he wouldn’t steal a car. But he’d damn sure sell you Mario on a knockoff controller. And for a lot of kids in 2004, that was close enough to magic.

Sources, for those who still believe in paper trails or give a shit:

Wikipedia, bitches!

BootlegGames Wiki: Power Player Super Joy III

Vintage Computing: EGM Advertisement: Sell Famiclones, Go to Prison

Hey, everyone! I have a few questions about the 3D stuff in the pirate stuff segment:

1. Where can I find Quixel Megascans packs?
2. Where can I find a trusted website to download Substance Painter?
3. Is there any way to make the AI work in cracked Adobe Photoshop (2025 and later)?

you guys got anything?

Tried to support the industry by buying a movie a watch a lot. Well, no more. If I need a pihole just to watch a movie I own, that's ridiculous.

I am just going out on a limb here:

A week ago I downloaded e1 and e2 via my private tracker of murderbot. My setup is that my jellyfin library directly points to the downloads folder for TV shows. This has always worked in the past, but now last week for murderbot e1 and e2 and now again this friday for e3, jellyfin only recognizes the file but cannot pull any metadata and is somehow unable to stream it to any of my clients.

I haven't tried any usual troubleshooting steps yet since I was really busy this past week, but was wondering if this is some Apple mechanism to hinder piracy.

Thoughts?

The Gospel of Phiber Optik or, How to Get Thrown in Prison for Knowing Shit

It begins like a lot of the old-school kick-ass digital legends, with a phone line and a curious teen. Tho I wanna say that I was a curious teen too, but just not curious in any productive way. I was too busy thinking about girls, jerking off to my step-mom’s underwear, and trying to survive the dull ache of being a loser in a town where nothing ever happened.

Sometimes I wonder how different it could’ve been if someone had handed me a clue, or a keyboard, or a reason to dig deeper. Brothers, I had the spark, but no kindling. Just a lot of static and the sense that I showed up too late. I shoulda started my Universal Monk “let’s piss off Lemmy every day while I hack into my OLPC and try to install Linux Puppy on it in the background!” persona way before I got old.

But fuck it, let’s talk about Phiber Optik.

In the early 1980s, Mark Abene, a soft-spoken kid from Queens, New York, discovered that the boring ass sound of a dial tone held secrets. Abene’s first contact with computers came around the age of nine, inside a department store where he would hang around while his parents wandered the aisles. The machines were just sitting there, blinking and waiting for someone curious enough to poke them. His first personal system was a TRS-80 MC-10, a tiny rig with 4 kilobytes of RAM, no lowercase letters, a 32-column screen, and a cassette deck that hissed and clunked as it loaded and saved programs. Like a lot of machines back then, it hooked up to the family television, turning it into a crude but functional portal to somewhere else.

Later, after his parents gifted him a RAM upgrade and a 300 baud modem, the real doors opened. Through CompuServe and its wild little corner called the CB Simulator, he found others like him. People who knew how to reach dialup bulletin board systems. From there he stumbled into guest accounts on DEC minicomputers used in the BOCES educational system in Long Island.

These machines ran operating systems with names like RSTS/E and TOPS-10 and they were a whole different universe compared to the TRS-80. Abene saw what they could do and decided to teach himself how to speak their language.

He pulled books from the library and started reading everything he could find on code. What hit him hardest was the realization that he could write something, log out, come back the next day, and it would still be there. His modest little computer setup had become a window, and on the other side of it was a world worth chasing.

Long before the term cybersecurity existed, Abene had already started burrowing into the veins of the American telecom system, decoding its logic not to destroy it, but to understand how it ticked.

His handle became ‘Phiber Optik,’ and in the grubby wire-y underbelly of the hacker scene he was damn near mythic. People talked about him with reverence or anger, depending on which side of the firewall you were on. To the kids trading exploits in IRC tunnels, he was a digital folk hero, one keyboard away from legend. To the feds, he was a glowing red dot on the radar, a walking middle finger to everything they couldn’t control.

What makes Phiber’s story relevant now, decades after his sentencing, is not just his technical brilliance. It is that he represented an ethical spine to a culture the public has long dismissed as criminal.

As pirate and privacy movements claw their way back into the spotlight, fueled by surveillance capitalism, corporate chokeholds, and the slow suffocation of open access, the old bones of Phiber Optik’s blueprint are starting to show through again. What he sketched in the static of the early 90s wasn’t just a kind of road map, it was a warning, half-forgotten, now suddenly relevant as hell.

After all, doesn’t all information want to be free?

Phiber was a member of two infamous hacking groups. First, he joined the Legion of Doom, a group that had already made its mark exploring the digital frontier of the telephone networks. Later, he co-founded Masters of Deception, or MOD, a New York-based collective that was as much a cultural counterpoint as it was a technical one. MOD went deeper into the cracks of AT&T and the broader infrastructure of early corporate networks. They said that their goal was to explore and document, not destroy.

As the Cold War fizzled and the Information Age kicked its boots up on the desk, the suits and corporations realized the growing value of digital systems. The government’s attitude toward hackers hardened. Home computers were no longer toys. They were infrastructure, currency, control. And suddenly, guys like Phiber weren’t curious kids anymore.

In January 1990, the Secret Service kicked in Phiber Optik’s door. He was just 17. They seized his gear and accused him of causing a massive AT&T network crash that had hit the country a week earlier. Phiber stood there while they ransacked his place, accused on the spot of bringing down part of the backbone of America’s phone system. Weeks later, AT&T admitted the crash had been their fault. A botched software update. No hackers involved. Just bad code and corporate silence.

That didn’t stop the momentum. In February 1991, he was arrested again, this time under New York state law, charged with computer tampering and computer trespass. He was still a minor. The legal system was scrambling to define what counted as a crime in the new digital frontier. Phiber ended up taking a plea to a lesser misdemeanor and served 35 hours of community service. The scare should have ended there. It didn’t.

By December 1991, the feds were ready for round two. Phiber Optik and four other members of Masters of Deception were arrested again. In July 1992, a federal grand jury hit them with an 11-count indictment. This time, the charges stuck. The government leaned on wiretaps. It was the first time in U.S. history they had used legally authorized taps to capture the voices and data transmissions of hackers. They weren’t trying to protect infrastructure. They were trying to make a point.

Despite no evidence of damage or theft, Phiber was sentenced to a year in federal prison. Again, no theft or damage. Just knowledge. Just access. But still, they had to fucking put him in a cage. They needed a scalp. He fit the frame. He was the first hacker convicted under the newly expanded federal computer crime laws.

The punishment was widely seen as symbolic. Phiber was articulate, clean-cut, and openly philosophical about the ethics of hacking. That made him dangerous. His case was less about securing systems than it was about sending a message. A warning to those who might try to explore behind the digital curtain without permission.

The trial lit a fuse. What came after was not just fallout. It was a shift. Phiber became the face of a new kind of threat. The hacker. The digital trespasser. The kid who knew too much. The media pounced. Magazines ran articles warning about ghosts in the machine. The New York Times printed his sentencing like it was a mafia takedown.

Today that kind of coverage is common background noise. But back then it hit like an earthquake. Computers were still the realm of hobbyists. Hackers were not yet cool icons or antiheroes. Seeing a story like this break into the mainstream meant the world had started paying attention. Even if it had no clue what it was actually looking at.

Inside the hacker community, he became a martyr for curiosity. Where some hackers sought money or infamy, Phiber was different. He believed in transparency, in challenging authority through knowledge. In many ways, his worldview mirrored what the modern open access and digital piracy movements have adopted.

Fast forward to today, and the landscape looks different but eerily familiar. Information is still locked behind paywalls. Network infrastructure is still protected less by code than by law. The average user remains dependent on gatekeepers for knowledge. Shadow libraries, sideloading communities, and decentralized networks are once again pushing the boundaries.

The ethos that drove Phiber Optik and MOD now animates projects like Library Genesis, Anna’s Archive, and countless torrent communities. These modern movements rely on the idea that access to information should not be controlled by profit motives. That understanding a system deeply is not a threat. That copying is not theft.

Phiber never claimed to be innocent. But he insisted that curiosity was not a crime. He never sold what he accessed. He documented. He learned. He shared. And he did so with the belief that a more transparent digital world was not just preferable, but necessary.

When people talk about the moral framework of piracy now, it’s all about what’s legal and who’s losing money. That’s the surface game. What gets ignored are the roots. The deeper questions. Phiber Optik and the others weren’t just rule-breakers. They were pulling back the curtain and asking who built the rules in the first place. Who benefits. Who decides what we’re allowed to know. They saw the gap widening between the ones who use the machine and the ones who own it. Between those who are fed and those who are kept hungry.

Phiber Optik went back to being Mark Abene and became a respected security consultant. He rebuilt his life above ground. But his impact lives beneath the surface. In Discord forums and dark web mirrors. In data liberation projects and copy-left publishing. In every encrypted message and anonymized torrent. He was there before the internet was sold back to us, back when it was something we made by exploring it together.

Not every hacker is a pirate. But every pirate who copies for access, who shares for freedom, who breaks a rule to question the system, carries the idea of Phiber Optik in their actions. Maybe not in name. But in spirit.

The spark is the same. Curiosity weaponized. Access reclaimed. A middle finger aimed squarely at the gate.

It was never just about phone switches or command lines. What Phiber did and what MOD stood for was proof that systems are built to keep people out, and that anyone willing to understand how those systems work could find a way in.

That blueprint did not vanish. It evolved. The mindset that once pulled secrets from a telecom grid now fuels the mirrors, torrents, and cracks of the modern internet. Bypassing a locked terminal and bypassing digital rights software are cousins in the same bloodline. Digging into AT&T’s infrastructure and scraping paywalled archives both ride the same frequency. The hardware has changed, the language has changed, but the mission is still carved in the same stone.

The kids cracking textbooks and sideloading banned books today may not know Phiber’s name, but they carry his ghost in every act of defiance. Every time they upload something they were told to keep hidden. Every time they share a file just to make sure someone else does not have to go without.

That is the legacy. The culture of piracy did not appear out of thin air. It grew out of old phone lines, library cards, and the belief that knowledge should not come with a price tag.

Sources, for those who still believe in paper trails or give a shit:

Wikipedia, bitches! (nice 90's pic of homie too)

"Masters of Deception: The Gang That Ruled Cyberspace" by Michelle Slatalla and Joshua Quittner (fun book I found on Anna's Archive)

"The Life and Times of Phiber Optik" Wired Magazine (I have actual paper copy of this!)

“I’m Universal Monk. You fuckers tried to cancel me, but I’m still here! Ha ha ha ha ha!” by Me

I've made torrents thanks to the very easy built-in torrent creator in qbittorent.

How can I easily share these with the general public?

I'd like to use 1337x, but they have an approval process and they don't seem interested in people without a proven track record.

Hello. I downloaded some stuff quiet a few times. Always care to have a VPN (Mullvad and Proton) active and also integrate it as an interface in BitTorrent. Regularly checked my network for DNS Leaks and downloaded Test-torrents to check my IP. So I thought I should be safe. I had no problems the last 6 Months.

About 2 month ago I switched my OS to Linux. Because I didn't was familiar with VPNs, Network Interfaces, etc. I stopped torrenting until I know what im doing.

One monthe later I bought a Homeserver and was planning to setup a little Seedbox to torrent 24/7. For training purposes I installed qBittorrent on a VM and downloaded some completely legal and official Linux Distribution. Never ever downloaded something which could cause a copyright issue.

Until I checked https://iknowwhatyoudownload.com/ With my real, unprotected IP yesterday. As expected I saw that I downloaded the Linux distros. But between them, there showed up an entry for a Series and a Film that I never downloaded and dont even know. Timely very close together. In a period when I definitely didn't downloaded anything.

Cause I'm from Germany it drives me crazy. How reliable are the infos from iknowwhatyoudownloaded.com?

Anyways, I will definitely contact my Lowyer if I find a letter in my letter box.

I know that private trackers require users to maintain a good seed ratio. How exactly does that work out mathematically? If a bunch of users have seed ratios above 1, does that mean that there are some users who will forever be below 1, and thus end up getting kicked out, thus resulting in the private tracker just... shrinking over time?

I have yearned capcut pc for a year or so now, and ever since they patched the free method, its been a pain to manually edit subtitles in premiere.

If you guys can suggest any auto subtitle with great customization and how the method to get it for free (obv)

Or just capcut pro would suffice.

In November 2022, Z-Library, the internet’s underground sweetheart of shadow libraries, got yanked out of the digital shadows and dragged into the goddamn spotlight by the United States government. For years, it floated just beneath the surface, dishing out millions of books to anyone who needed them. Broke students. Underpaid teachers. Porn-addicted shitposting degenerates like me. Researchers locked out by paywalls. Whole classrooms in places where textbooks are a luxury. It was the people’s library, stitched together with torrents and defiance.

Then the hammer dropped.

The Department of Justice came in swinging. The FBI showed up with a global buddy-cop lineup of foreign law enforcement. Hundreds of domain names blinked out like lights in a blackout. The feds even snatched two Russian nationals in Argentina, claiming they were the ghostly masterminds behind it all. Just two people, flesh and bone, dragged into the open for handing out knowledge that corporate publishing kept locked behind gold-plated paywalls.

Suddenly, free books became evidence. And giving a damn became a federal issue. The message was unmistakable: access to knowledge, when it bypasses corporate control, would be treated as a criminal act.

At its peak, Z-Library claimed a database of over 13 million books and more than 84 million articles. Users around the world could access everything from obscure philosophy texts and medical journals to fiction, poetry, and educational materials. The site had evolved from a mirror of Library Genesis into a vast archive and branded itself as the world’s largest ebook library.

It pulled in traffic from damn near every country on the planet. Especially in places where buying a book meant skipping a meal or where bookstores didn’t even exist. It was a lifeline wrapped in a ZIP file. And it didn’t give a single shit about copyright law. None. It ran on need, not permission.

To publishers and the big-name authors clinging to their royalty checks, Z-Library wasn’t a library. It was a threat. A digital F-you aimed straight at their paywalls.

To millions of users, it offered something much closer to a public good. In a world where a single textbook can cost more than a week’s wages and research papers are locked behind forty-dollar paywalls, the idea of sharing books freely was not just appealing, it was essential. For independent scholars, low-income students, and autodidacts with no access to institutional libraries, Z-Library was more than a website. It was a vital tool for survival in a deeply unequal system.

The crackdown unfolded quickly. On November 3, 2022, Argentinian authorities arrested Anton Napolsky and Valeriia Ermakova at the request of the United States. Days later, the U.S. Department of Justice unsealed an indictment charging them with criminal copyright infringement, wire fraud, and money laundering. They were accused of uploading books within hours of release and profiting from donation-based activity that prosecutors framed as illegal commerce. FBI officials painted the pair as pirates exploiting the creative work of others, while the Authors Guild praised the arrests as a landmark victory.

Even so, the takedown left many unanswered questions. For one, Z-Library never fully disappeared. While its main domains were redirected to government-controlled servers, the site remained operational on the dark web. Administrators continued to send out messages and respond to users. This suggested that Napolsky and Ermakova were not the only individuals behind the operation.

Within days, new search engines and mirrors like Anna’s Archive appeared online, preserving the collection and making it clear that the shutdown had failed to stop the flow of information.

The attack on Z-Library was not the first attempt to crush a shadow library, and it likely would not be the last. In previous years, various governments including those in India, France, and the United Kingdom had blocked or seized domains associated with the site. Internet service providers were ordered to restrict access. Publishers filed legal claims across multiple jurisdictions. Each action made it harder to reach the site, but none succeeded in shutting it down completely.

The public statements made by U.S. officials focused on authors’ rights and lost revenue. Yet these same officials offered no solutions for the root causes of piracy. They said nothing about the rising cost of academic journals. They said nothing about the lack of affordable books for students outside wealthy nations. They said nothing about the millions of people who wanted to learn but could not afford to buy access.

For a lot of people, the whole crackdown felt like a sick joke. Copying isn’t stealing. When you copy a book, nothing vanishes. The original stays right where it is. Nothing is lost. Something is shared. In a digital world where making a copy costs exactly zero, scarcity isn’t real. It’s manufactured. Built on locked doors and greed. The gatekeepers call it protection, rake in the cash, and turn anyone who shares into a criminal.

Months after the arrest, reports emerged that Napolsky and Ermakova had escaped house arrest in Argentina. Their whereabouts were unknown, and an Interpol warrant was issued. Meanwhile, U.S. authorities continued seizing domains and targeting infrastructure. Z-Library evolved. It shifted to personal access domains, private distribution systems, and decentralized methods. The people behind it adapted, and so did its users.

Z-Library was not perfect. It operated in legal gray areas. But it filled a need that the formal system refused to address. It offered access where there was none. It provided knowledge without a price tag.

And it asked brought up an important question: who gets to read, and who gets left behind?

Piracy, in this context, was not about greed or laziness. It was a form of resistance. It was a way for the excluded to participate. It was not the opposite of learning. It was learning in spite of a system built to exclude.

As long as the price of knowledge is set higher than what most people can afford, piracy will continue. And it will continue to be justified. Not because it is legal. But because it is necessary.

Popular torrent site uploader Will1869, known for releases tagged as 'COLLECTiVE', has been arrested by police in the UK. He specialized in distributing recent movies that were typically sourced elsewhere. COLLECTiVE torrents were shared on public portals including 1337x and also appeared on the home site, Laidbackmanor, which was also shut down by police.

Torrent site uploaders come in various shapes and sizes. Only a few become so popular that their ‘brand’ is widely recognized by online pirates.

COLLECTiVE falls into the latter category. The uploader operating under this tag, Will1869, shared many high-profile titles, mostly films. He purportedly operated as a one-man team.

These releases appeared on major torrent sites including 1337x and the recently defunct TorrentGalaxy. COLLECTiVE reportedly ran a small torrent portal, Laidbackmanor, where these releases often appeared first.

Unlike regular release groups, which are often the origin of leaks, Will1869 (as COLLECTiVE) typically sourced his releases from elsewhere. This included cams with embedded ads that were carefully stripped before they were shared further.

UK Police Arrest Will1869, Shut Down Laidbackmanor
For a long time, COLLECTiVE uploads appeared at a steady pace, but that changed at the end of last month, when they suddenly stopped. At the same time, the Laidbackmanor site was taken offline and redirected to a GoDaddy landing page.

In the immediate wake of these events, rumors started to spread that Will1869, a.k.a. COLLECTiVE, had been arrested. This was reported by several unconfirmed sources and corroborated by a message sent through his website hours before it disappeared.

After reaching out to a trusted source, who asked to remain anonymous, we can now report that UK police arrested Will1869 at the end of April. He has since been released on bail but remains under investigation.

At this point, no further information on the case is available, but we are informed that additional details are expected to be released in due course. What is clear, however, is that the arrest effectively means the end for COLLECTiVE and the associated website.

It’s unknown how the authorities eventually pinpointed Will1869, but his operation under the COLLECTiVE tag has been a high-profile target for a while, as its releases have been downloaded through pirate sites many millions of times.

In January, COLLECTiVE made headlines when two Oscar-nominated screeners started to leak across various torrent sites. The most popular releases were tagged by COLLECTiVE but Will1869 wasn’t the original source. Instead, the leaks were obtained elsewhere on the open web.

These pass-through releases were typical of how COLLECTiVE operated. Instead of ripping content directly, Will1869 picked up other releases which, after some ‘improvements’, were uploaded to the public.

The arrest of Will1869 by UK police effectively puts an end to this stream of uploads.

Inside CRACK99: Xiang Li, Software Piracy, and the Price of Knowledge

In the late 2000s, while most internet users were quietly downloading torrents and cracking Photoshop out of frustration or necessity, a man in Chengdu, China, was doing it bigger, smarter, and far more dangerously—at least in the eyes of the U.S. government.

His name was Xiang Li. Through his website, CRACK99, he distributed cracked versions of some of the most expensive and highly restricted software on Earth.

These were tools used in military engineering, satellite communications, weapons design, and critical aerospace systems. In a world where powerful knowledge was locked behind licensing agreements and pricing designed for billion-dollar governments, Li offered access for a price nearly anyone could afford.

From 2008 to 2011, Li made CRACK99 a reliable black-market marketplace, one that netted an estimated $100 million in sales. His inventory, investigators later said, was valued at over $1 billion.

He did not code these tools himself or crack the protections. They were pirated elsewhere. He simply redistributed them, turning scarcity into availability.

His customers weren’t criminal masterminds. They were engineers, small business owners, students, and even U.S. government employees. Among them was a NASA engineer and a contractor who worked on radar software for Marine One, the helicopter used by the President of the United States.

That revelation rattled national security agencies. It meant classified systems were being developed, at least in part, using pirated tools. It also meant the official channels were either too expensive or too inaccessible, even to insiders.

When access to knowledge is locked behind six-figure software licenses, people will find another way in.

In 2010, Homeland Security and the Defense Criminal Investigation Service launched an undercover investigation led by David Locke Hall, a former U.S. Navy intelligence officer and federal prosecutor. For eighteen months, agents posed as buyers, gained Li’s trust, and arranged a face-to-face meeting in Saipan, a U.S. territory in the Pacific.

Li flew to the island expecting a lucrative expansion of his business. He arrived with his mother-in-law and son, unaware he had entered U.S. jurisdiction. At a beachfront hotel, Li handed over cracked software and 20GB of stolen data. When he confirmed he was the man behind CRACK99, federal agents arrested him.

That moment, Hall later said, was the most dangerous part of the entire operation. You never know how someone will react when the illusion collapses. Li, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, did not look like a criminal. But appearances can be deceiving.

After his arrest, Hall tried to soften the impact on Li’s family. He took the boy out for ice cream while agents searched the hotel room. He didn’t feel sorry for Li in that moment, but he did feel for the child, caught in something he couldn’t understand.

Li was extradited to the mainland and charged in Delaware. In 2013, he pleaded guilty to conspiracy to commit wire fraud and copyright infringement. He was sentenced to twelve years in federal prison; one of the longest sentences for software piracy in American history.

While law enforcement saw the case as a vital win against cybercrime, others see a deeper question: If software is priced out of reach, and if even government scientists are turning to piracy, is the problem really the pirate—or the system?

Li didn’t set out to sabotage anything. He simply didn’t believe that tools to build machines or simulate flight should be locked away behind institutional gates. He didn’t care who his customers were, and that scared people. But it also said something damning about how modern knowledge is managed: access to it is a privilege, not a right.

Xiang Li sits in prison, not as a hacker or spy, but as someone who cracked open the paywall and asked why it was there to begin with.

Have searched for a long time now. Only found the older assets for older versions of speedtree (v7 and lower). The current assets are for speedtree v8 and above, which are the ones I'm looking for. https://store.speedtree.com/speedtree-store/

Got tired with it. Fired up ytdlp( it was complex for me. So I used an android app called ytdlnis) and downloaded some music. I can't do it in one day so still downloading.
🖕 music streaming . welcome offline music.

cross-posted from: https://hexbear.net/post/5008586

Used to use ElevenReader to upload ebook files and listen to them for free - it was too good to be true, and as of today they are now limiting monthly listening time.

Ironically, the last book I listened to with it was The Dubious Battle, which was based on a user's recommendation from this site! I enjoyed it a lot and am planning on getting through more of Steinbeck's work.

Libby is great but I don't need the feds looking at what I'm listening to.

Librivox is also great BUT limited to public domain books, plus the audio files are huge (as expected).

For now I'm back to Librera FD and its use of google's voice/TTS engine. I have found alternatives for this that I can re-research and link here, but it leaves a lot to be desired.

I'm on Android and have followed the app A Book's Story closely since there was discussion of implementing the Android TTS engine, but no dice there.

Suggestions welcome! I would cruise through a few books a month this way and want to keep up the momentum and hopefully help others with these methods.

I have intermediate coding skills if there are projects I could take a look at as well.

I removed the link to the article, since the article is on Medium, and Medium is becoming a shithole too. So here is the article. It was written by JA Westenberg and she's at https://www.joanwestenberg.com/

Subscription payments are the best thing that ever happened to software companies. And they’re arguably the worst thing that ever happened to their customers.

When I started as an aspiring digital artist in the early 2000s, saving up to purchase software like Adobe Photoshop felt like an investment — once bought, it was mine to use indefinitely. I remember putting away dollars from my paper route to buy my first copy as a kid, already dreaming about my future as a creator.

Later, as a teenager working at McDonald’s, I repeated the ritual of patient saving until I could finally purchase music production software such as Ableton Live. Owning those tools outright meant using them freely without worrying about ongoing costs. My creative output wasn’t bound to what I could afford month-to-month.

Now, companies like Adobe solely offer subscriptions — monthly fees and essentially renting in perpetuity. We no longer own our software; we pay a licensing fee.

This gives us access to regular updates, but it also means the sword of Damocles hangs over creatives — miss a payment, lose access. The freedom of creation I once relished has been supplanted by nagging financial anxiety. I miss the days when the tools felt like mine, not someone else’s borrowed goods, and when I didn’t open up a tool and wonder how much longer I’d be able to keep using it.

The Drawbacks for Customers Here’s the drawback. If I live as long as I want, paying for Photoshop every month will be very, very bloody expensive.

Yes, subscriptions provide convenience and access to varied services and products. But convenience just isn’t enough.

Psychologically, subscriptions drive overconsumption. Our paychecks are eaten away in advance before we realise how many 30-day free trials and monthly tithes we’ve committed ourselves to. And while the subscriptions seem small enough on paper, their cumulative cost is straining the budget for consumers and creatives.

We’re told repeatedly that it’s just the price of one coffee a month, but the combined cost of every single tool, service, app and game demanding one coffee a month becomes the equivalent of paying for enough caffeine to poison even the strongest constitution.

The proliferation of subscription services has led to increasing fragmentation of content. As platforms vie for customer attention, consumers confront myriad fragmented options, each requiring an individual subscription. This results in higher costs for accessing content and a disempowering user experience of juggling multiple platforms and subscriptions. The promised convenience of subscriptions is eroded, leaving customers questioning the true benefits.

It’s easy to understand why company after company is shifting their model. The allure of stability is compelling, and subscription payment models provide just that for businesses. Rather than relying on sporadic one-time purchases, companies can enjoy consistent, predictable revenue streams month after month thanks to loyal subscribers. This stable financial base allows businesses to plan for and invest in future growth, pleasing investors and looking good on paper. But that stability is hardly a victory for users who just want good software and aren’t particularly interested in quarterly earnings reports.

Customer loyalty is the holy grail for companies, and in theory, subscriptions foster (aka coerce) enduring relationships with customers, reducing the risk of losing them to competitors. This is achieved through the “lock-in effect,” where the convenience and perceived value of continuing a subscription discourages customers from seeking alternatives.

But instead of using the foundation of a subscription to cultivate long-term relationships and capitalize on increased customer lifetime value, companies treat users like a Sure Thing, taking them for granted and adding little in terms of value to justify the monthly fee.

There’s a popular argument that subscription payment models championed entrepreneurs and startups, levelling the playing field in an industry historically dominated by major players. It allows smaller companies to enter the marketplace with minimal upfront costs and directly compete with industry giants. But when all these startups want to do is sell more subscription services, it starts to seem at least a little Ponzi-esque.

And then there’s the unfortunate reality that when the economy is tanking, rents are going up, housing is unattainable, food is an arm and a leg, and it’s too expensive to put petrol in the car, more than a few users are going to look at the laundry list of adorably vowel-averse SaaS startups they keep throwing their money at and ask whether they actually need them. There’s a perfectly good email app that comes pre-installed on their phones. The same goes for the To-Do list and Notes apps. At some point, the subscription creep stops making sense.

The ongoing commitment of subscriptions is a massive burden, limiting our flexibility to adapt our spending as needs change. This financial load becomes a significant barrier to achieving financial well-being. We’re stuck in a subscription payment hamster wheel. And something is going to have to give.

Companies recognizing the potential drawbacks of subscriptions have started innovating within the model. Some offer flexible subscription options, allowing customers to pay for services or products on a usage basis. Others are exploring bundled subscriptions, providing diverse content or services at a reduced cost. These approaches address customer concerns while maintaining business benefits by prioritising customer value and flexibility.

But they’re still dodging around one simple fact. The best way for consumers to access software is to buy an app that does what they need and then choose whether or not to upgrade to the next version later. It’s a model that doesn’t require a spreadsheet of monthly expenses to wrangle alongside gas, electricity and medical bills. Although I’m sure there’s a subscription-based app to make it all easier. Roughly the cost of a coffee a month?

The main insight here is that, as far as i can tell, the main thing stopping ARM from working is the installer, not the program or even the patch. I will edit this post if the installs stop working.

download

I got my adobe downloads from soft98.ir, and under each download there is a rar file with the download (or for photoshop its 3 parts, winrar can piece them together for you if theyre in the same dir), and a tool called CCMaker (which i believe isnt maintained, but still works). All rar files on soft98.ir have a password which is always "soft98.ir". Im not sure if m0nkrus downloads would work with the first method described, but perhaps it might. I know the master collection is missing the files required for CCMaker to make sense of it, but individual downloads may work.

install

There are two ways to get these installed:

CCMaker

CCMaker is an unofficial adobe installer. its download functionality is completely broken, but its install (mostly) works.

Turn off windows defender, take the downloaded rar, unzip it with the password "soft98.ir", then mount the iso. if it's taking forever, you can open task manager and kill "windows defender smartscreen" to skip it scanning the iso.

Open CCMaker, hit "install", then navigate to the mounted iso > i believe "products", and select "driver.xml". Don't untick anything, and let CCMaker install adobe for you!

I don't think this method properly fixes the host file, so either do that manually, or just use windows firewall to exclude the exe (C:\Program Files\Adobe\\.exe) from accessing the internet at all

You may get an error complaining it can't communicate with creative cloud desktop. The fix I found is to literally jsut download creative cloud from Adobe's website. Do the same firewall trick, and now your products will work just fine.

In my testing, CCMaker throws an error when attempting to install Illustrator (2025 and 2024, maybe more), so for that, or any others that fail, do the next method

portable

~~EDIT: Illustrator 2025 portable does not work, you can't open any files. Will look into alternatives.~~

soft98.ir provides "portable" versions of many adobe products which don't require an install at all. Simply download the portable version, and place it somewhere where you don't need admin access to write files (ie, not program files. anywhere in user folder should be fine). This might even automatically do the hosts thing but just to be safe, block it from the internet as well. You can also create a shortcut to the exe to put in your start/desktop to pretend it's installed. The downside is that these require admin access for every run, for some reason. I assume to fool it into thinking its not portable.

EDIT 2: To get portable apps working on arm, you may need to mess with the compatibility settings: Right click on the exe, Properties > Compatability > Change settings for all users > Change emulation settings under "windows on arm" > change it from "default" to "safe emulation". If this doesn't work, you might want to try strict or very strict, but these degrade performance.

Looking for a few workshop manuals, is there anywhere that generally has a good selection?