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I tried calling him the next day. After two rings, his phone went to voicemail.

In the days since the raid, Dylan has only been in touch over Twitter and, briefly, over what he said was a borrowed phone. He swiftly sent me the warrant and seizure documents and decided, at that moment, that he was ok with me using his real first name.

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"Feel free to use my real name in the article," he said. "At this stage I have nothing to lose, I've lost everything."

***

Over Twitter, privately, Dylan has seemed crushed, telling me a couple of days after the raid that he was "pretty down, flashbacks to the raid are frequent." Publicly on Twitter, he's become a little more animated, and has been retweeting anyone who uses the hashtag #FreeSuperDaE.

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"I was treated like a criminal," he complained to me, looking back at the raid.

It seemed to me that it didn't matter if he really didn't pirate or if he really didn't use any stolen credit card numbers. He'd said that he got access to companies' computers by using others' logins. That alone might seem pretty bad.

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"No one was hurt from what I did," he said to me. "So it's shocking that they want to ruin me like this."

Dylan says he hasn't been charged with anything yet. He says he's living with family.

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"I am a hacker in the eyes of the law," he told me a couple of weeks ago. "However, how I see it is [that] I am someone curious with information and obsessed with owning everything that I otherwise shouldn't."

Some of the tales Dylan told seem too wild to be true, but those Orbis and Durango documents? Real. Epic and Blizzard? They say he got into them, however briefly.

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What could he have known? What could he have done? What gaming secrets could SuperDaE have discovered? That depends on which of his claims you choose to believe—claims that, with the police cracking down, he may wish fewer people had believed in the first place.