Storing data is so cheap it's essentially free, so data brokers record everything in the hopes that it will have value to someone. The data is aggreg… - Daniel Suarez

Something was beyond wrong. Sebeck looked at the faces of the agents and police arrayed around him. There was abject hatred in their eyes. Burning anger. He knew that look. It was the look reserved for the vilest criminals. They were closing in from two directions — leaving a clear field of fire. Twenty or thirty heavily armed men. Sebeck glanced at Ross, who already had his hands on his head. “What the hell is going on, Jon?” “I don’t know. But the Daemon’s got something to do with it.” “This is your last warning! Put your hands on your head, or we will open fire!” Sebeck felt his blood rising. He put his hands on the back of his head but looked to Ross. “Why are they looking at me?” “I don’t know.” The Feds hit Sebeck like linebackers.

They’d had so much more luck investing in eccentric B and C students. The rationale was simple: Those heavily invested in the status quo had difficulty thinking outside of it — and were often tainted by it. Especially when success and peer approval beckoned. One did not accidentally graduate from top-tier schools. One strove to get in and to maintain grades once there, and to do that, one usually needed to be a master at conformity. To excel in all the accepted conventions.

"Picture this: you work at a plant that makes Halloween stuff — you know, like, rubber severed heads. And you’re all like: Americans decorate their homes with severed heads? These fuckers are savages, man." Sebeck