I’m practically whistling as I wander along the corridor towards the ops centre, remains of a motherboard dangling from my hand. True, cremating a PC by delivering three-phase rather than the more normal mains power supply was a little excessive, but I don’t think I’ll have any problems getting the budget approved to upgrade our existing power grid to something a little less stone age. Plus the excess heat dissipation units (air conditioners if you translate what the boss just signed off) should be a nice little bonus, especially with the extra brownie points for finally getting the data prep lasses their very own cooling unit.
As I make it into the office Liz notices my good mood and has a quick glance around for anything nasty she may have missed. I drop into my chair, stick the feet up on the file server and grab the mound of post sitting in the middle of my desk. True, most of it’ll be crap that I only let them keep sending to give the boss the impression of information overload, and to be able to flash nice shiny brochures at him when necessary, but leaving this stuff too long before filing it (in the big round file on the floor) is dangerous. I’ve seen the results of a landslip on a post mountain and it ain’t pretty.
My good mood comes to a screeching halt as I flick through the contents of a seemingly innocent brown envelope. Liz senses blood in the water and wanders across to read over my shoulder as I sit and stew for a minute.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” Liz said, moving round to perch on the desk. “Why, exactly, are this lot saying we owe them the thick end of ten grand?”
“Do you want the official version or the accurate one?”
“Start with the official one.”
“Well, it appears that our previous sales rep negotiated a substantial discount on the contract but they can’t find the paperwork that went with it, and as the sales rep’s left the company, unless we’ve got a copy of the paperwork that they never give to customers they’ll have to charge us the full price and bill us in arrears for the last six months.”
“Ooookay. What happened, previous rep get moved somewhere safe from retribution and pull the plug?”
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. Besides, it’s a little hard to move far enough away that the release of pictures of you at a supposedly private gentleman’s club with several very pretty, and no doubt very expensive, women in tow wouldn’t upset your wife.”
“Ah.”
“No, I think it more likely that Mr Fast-and-loose has actually left the company and they’re looking to get out of a contract that’s proving less than lucrative. If they can make a bundle off us at the same time, so much the better.”
“I presume you haven’t got any similar photographic evidence hanging around for such an eventuality?”
“No, while the reps tend to play about, unfortunately the board seems to be whiter than white. Or just much better at hiding what goes on, which is probably far more likely.”
“So what’s the plan? I assume we’re not actually going to pay this.”
“Of course not, where else are we getting the money for our bonuses this year?”
“Umm, payroll database, sale of ‘surplus’ parts, the 0800 number thing, double billing laptops to both IT and the client…”
“No-one likes a smart arse.”
“You didn’t train me to be liked.”
“No, I taught you to win, and what was rule number one?”
“Never annoy the BOFH.”
“Right, so can we get back to the plot here?”
“What if I want to annoy the BOFH?” she asked, leaning towards me. It takes every bit of my self-control not to react, damn but she’s getting to know me too well, knows how easily I’ll respond to her when she does this defiant act.
“Seek professional help, it’s safer in the long term.” I growled, “Unless of course you don’t want your birthday present.”
“Huh? What present?”
“Yours. Two weeks tomorrow isn’t it?”
”Wait, how did you, I didn’t put the right date on my CV, the HR database hasn’t got it in, so how the hell…?”
“Magic.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Yep.”
“Will I like it?”
“It’s a surprise, and one you won’t be getting if we don’t get back to business here.”
“That’s hardly fair.”
“And nor is forgetting to mention the comms cupboard on the forth floor doesn’t have a door handle on the inside, but in both cases you learnt a valuable lesson. Now can we please continue?”
“Right, right, where were we?”
“Company, screwing us out of big sums of money, retribution, ring a bell?”
”Oh, yeah, so the plan would be?”
“Well, I was thinking it’s time for you to start taking on some of this relationship management work around here. ”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you might not have the experience, but damn straight you’ve got the attitude down, the rest will come with practice. Now here’s how we’re going to play this one…”
And so, first thing the very next day a young man in a slick suit is found standing around reception. The receptionist, following the instructions she’s been given to the letter, apologises for the delay and directs him towards the coffee pot. The next fifteen minutes are punctuated by a series of calls back and forth as first no-one seems to know where I actually am, then I’m off ill, then I’m not ill but on holiday, then ill again, temporarily dead then restored to alive but not well.
The net result is that our eager beaver sales rep is looking a tad twitchy after several cups of sys admin special coffee (a delicate mix of Rocket Fuel and Pro Plus that can, given a little time to work, bond with ceramic mugs and eat spoons.) and is ever-so relieved when someone hits on the bright idea of getting a substitute decision maker to do the business talk thing. The first number tried is the boss, but as we’ve been having cable problems in that area of the building recently (very recently as it happens, in fact you’d swear it started about five seconds before the call went out, terrible bad luck on timing that one) he doesn’t answer. The big boss is in, but is busy going through the web site logs of his fellow board members for signs of treachery and can’t be disturbed. The rep is, by this point, getting a little testy and starts banging on about this needing to be settled today, possible actionable state of affairs etc etc.
Even over the security cameras I can see the receptionist start daydreaming about Vin Diesel (if her surfing habits are to be believed anyway) as the monkey in a suit revs up the full moral outrage speech. After a few minutes (I guess Vin wasn’t that good after all) she comes up with the splendid idea of seeing if my assistant is about. Phrases like new starter, a little inexperienced, may need some hand holding and best of all, full spending authority, have the poor guy practically drooling into his briefcase as dollar signs float in front of his eyes.
In fact so enthused is he at getting his hooks into this fresh meat, he makes the biggest mistake of his life and disregards the warning from the receptionist about the lifts being ‘a little unreliable’ and hops aboard a vertical transport device only ever used by Operations staff and very stupid people.
Sure enough there’s a failure with the life control software and the cage comes to a halt somewhere between floors three and four. He’s on the emergency intercom in a heartbeat and I reassure him that help’s on its way. Seconds later there’s a simultaneous failure in the power system and the control panel, speaker and lights die. Wonder what the odds where of that happening? Getting back to my desk and pocketing a fuse I found carelessly lying around I fire up the independent security system that no-one but me and the PFY know exists and hit the record button on my PC.
It really is bloody dark in there, and for most systems this would be a problem. However, thanks to a very friendly security firm (with inadequate protection on their client files) the BOFH security network comes with widescreen picture, a full range of zoom options and >click< night vision. The scene shifts to the sort of ghostly green shots you get from the military on your local news channel and all is revealed.
The rep is standing in front of the doors, hand still pressing the intercom switch. Behind and above him a roof panel slides back without a sound and a figure clad head to foot in black drops with cat-like grace to the floor, the carpet masking her impact. The seemingly skin-tight outfit is broken only by what looks like a large bracelet on the right arm with eight large blocks all joined together and an odd looking set of goggles over the eyes. The figure’s definitely female and I allow myself a moment to stare with outright longing and desire at a body that could tempt the pope. She glances up to the hole she came in by and touches something on the bracelet. Silently what looks like two cables drop through the hole, each sporting large, heavy shackles on one end. In the blink of an eye she’s locked both cables around the sales guy’s wrists and, at the touch of a button, the cables pull back up into the ceiling, yanking their prey back until he stands on tiptoes in the middle of the lift, arms stretched way up above his head.
Sadly the one thing I’m lacking here is sound, so I can’t tell what’s being said, but I doubt they were particularly kind words. Of course he still can’t actually see what’s got him, or who else is in the lift with him, I wonder if he’d be more relaxed with the lights on, or if he’d be even more on edge. It’d be interesting to find out, but for this to work properly he can’t be allowed even a glimpse of his captor. Pity.
She goes to work immediately, unbuttoning his jacket and shirt, unbuckling his belt and pulling his trousers down to the floor. Under normal circumstances this would be a pretty erotic show, but I know what’s coming next and there’s a part of me that’s feeling just a little sorry for the guy. Thankfully the rest of me beats it into submission pretty quickly and I grab a bag of popcorn from the supply cupboard in case of mid-movie munchies.
She dives straight in, gloved fingers flying over exposed ribs, digging in and around the helpless flesh. Suddenly I’m quite glad I can’t get sound, from the way he’s thrashing about it’d probably have blown the speakers. I wonder if he can actually see her when she’s that close, probably not, just feel a presence of some kind but I don’t think there’s enough light in there to make out any sort of shapes. Hmm, looks like the armpits are a tad ticklish, one touch and he’s trying to kick her. A bit of a wasted effort in the circumstances, and probably a dumb one too.
Yep, thought so, if there’s one thing she’s not, it’s stupid. If you’re running the risk of catching a boot, get out of the way. She slips behind him, wraps an arm around his waist to hold him still, the other starts flying over his chest, ribs and stomach. No rhyme or reason, no pattern, just a never-ending stream of ticklish stimulation. His legs are definitely struggling, knees going shaky as he laughs. Man, that’s got to be getting well beyond any comfort point by now.
Ah, bang on time, five minutes down and a change of tactics. Her hand goes to the bracelet and pop open one of the boxes, then another. Now there is a sight it would be interesting to show him as she slinks over with a long, flowing feather in one hand and a short, stiff one in the other. Let’s see how she’s going to play this one.
She moves back behind him, the hand holding the short feather wrapping around his waist so the fingers end just to one side of his belly button, the other gets to work with the long feather. Woah, whatever that’s doing I think he likes it, well, a bit anyway. Eyes wide, head back, mouth locked open in laughter might make it more likely that it’s torture but there’s certain, umm, indications that it’s not entirely unpleasant. That changes less than a minute later as that small feather dives into his belly button, swirling around like a miniature ticklish tornado. His legs go and he’s swinging from his wrists, gasping for air as the stiff point of that evil little feather dances around his navel, then up and around his chest as she swaps the flowing vanes of the larger feather down to his stomach and waist.
Dropping the feathers she stands in front of him again and digs both hands into his ribs. Even in the silence of my office I can see the scream, the veins on his neck standing out as his mouth stretches wider than I’d have thought possible. Hands coming around and continuing their assault on his stomach, dipping down a little to his waist and down the side of his thighs. The knees provide a distraction on the journey south, fingers scraping and scrabbling around both front and back. From the look of shock on his face I don’t think he expected to be ticklish there, well we learn something new every day now don’t we?
Continuing down there’s only one place left that she could be going, and I rather suspect he knows it. Again I’m guessing, but from the wide eyed stare, shaking of head and rapid lip movement as she slides her fingers over his calves I’m willing to bet he’s promising pretty much anything right now if she doesn’t go where he thinks she’s going. Not that it does any good of course.
A quick motion over another button on that bracelet and two more cables with matching restraints drop from the hole in the roof. It’s a matter of moments to yank off shoes and socks, and barely five seconds later the guy’s rocking on his knees, feet pulled up behind him by the now-tight cables, feet bare and helpless to whatever depravities his tormenter can dream up.
Unfortunately for him, she has a very active imagination, even with the restrictions imposed on her by the setting. I wince as she starts out with what I believe she considers a gentle first move, fingers scraping the full length of his foot, and while the gloves spare him her nails it’s obviously still more than he can comfortably stand. It’s fascinating to watch as he writhes, unable to get any leverage whatsoever in this position, and yet always conscious of the rather nasty consequences of over-balancing and suddenly carrying all his weight on his shoulders.
This goes on for a couple of minutes, and by the end his eyes are screwed shut, breath coming in ragged gasps as he hangs limp in his bondage. As I watch he struggles to recover some semblance of control as she opens another box on her arm and pulls out two tiny, stiff bristled brushes, the heads no bigger than a toothbrush. The instant they hit his soles his head goes back, every muscle in his body tensing, every finger stretching out behind him as he howls. A brief movement on the picture seems to be tears leaking from his eyes, though it’s hard to make out.
Over and over again she rakes his feet with those devastating toys, even dipping them down between his toes from time to time, paying close attention to the state of her captive. Finally he goes still, eyes open and breathing, but all thought of fight driven from him as he surrenders utterly to the torments being inflicted upon him.
At that she ceases her attack and stuffs the tools back into their appropriate places on her arm. She pauses briefly to straighten his shoes, and I spot what looks like a very quick hand movement, though I can’t be sure. Then, using her captive as a ladder she pulls herself up into the roof and disappears into the lift shaft. A few seconds later the shackles pop open and pull back as well, the roof tile slides back into place leaving an exhausted sales rep behind.
I give him about five minutes to get his strength back, and then flick the lights back on. After another few minutes for him to get dressed and check the lift for any sign of an intruder I turn the rest of the power back on and inform him, via the intercom, that the engineer’s fixing the thing as we speak and that he should be moving again in a few minutes. A casual enquiry as to whether or not he’s okay receives a not very convincing “yes, yes of course” answer and barely a minute later the lift resumes its journey.
I’m almost impressed, he’s managing to act as if nothing happened but a power cut, though a slight limp to what was a perfect walk when he entered the building, and a rather dishevelled appearance, gives the game away. The helldesk directs him to Liz’s office, in reality a general purpose meeting room we stick some ‘personal possessions’ in when we need to entertain clients, and casually drops another reference to how ‘she’s new here so go easy on her’. With shark like compassion he almost runs down the corridor and with a confident, friendly knock walks into the room.
As I make it into the office Liz notices my good mood and has a quick glance around for anything nasty she may have missed. I drop into my chair, stick the feet up on the file server and grab the mound of post sitting in the middle of my desk. True, most of it’ll be crap that I only let them keep sending to give the boss the impression of information overload, and to be able to flash nice shiny brochures at him when necessary, but leaving this stuff too long before filing it (in the big round file on the floor) is dangerous. I’ve seen the results of a landslip on a post mountain and it ain’t pretty.
My good mood comes to a screeching halt as I flick through the contents of a seemingly innocent brown envelope. Liz senses blood in the water and wanders across to read over my shoulder as I sit and stew for a minute.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” Liz said, moving round to perch on the desk. “Why, exactly, are this lot saying we owe them the thick end of ten grand?”
“Do you want the official version or the accurate one?”
“Start with the official one.”
“Well, it appears that our previous sales rep negotiated a substantial discount on the contract but they can’t find the paperwork that went with it, and as the sales rep’s left the company, unless we’ve got a copy of the paperwork that they never give to customers they’ll have to charge us the full price and bill us in arrears for the last six months.”
“Ooookay. What happened, previous rep get moved somewhere safe from retribution and pull the plug?”
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. Besides, it’s a little hard to move far enough away that the release of pictures of you at a supposedly private gentleman’s club with several very pretty, and no doubt very expensive, women in tow wouldn’t upset your wife.”
“Ah.”
“No, I think it more likely that Mr Fast-and-loose has actually left the company and they’re looking to get out of a contract that’s proving less than lucrative. If they can make a bundle off us at the same time, so much the better.”
“I presume you haven’t got any similar photographic evidence hanging around for such an eventuality?”
“No, while the reps tend to play about, unfortunately the board seems to be whiter than white. Or just much better at hiding what goes on, which is probably far more likely.”
“So what’s the plan? I assume we’re not actually going to pay this.”
“Of course not, where else are we getting the money for our bonuses this year?”
“Umm, payroll database, sale of ‘surplus’ parts, the 0800 number thing, double billing laptops to both IT and the client…”
“No-one likes a smart arse.”
“You didn’t train me to be liked.”
“No, I taught you to win, and what was rule number one?”
“Never annoy the BOFH.”
“Right, so can we get back to the plot here?”
“What if I want to annoy the BOFH?” she asked, leaning towards me. It takes every bit of my self-control not to react, damn but she’s getting to know me too well, knows how easily I’ll respond to her when she does this defiant act.
“Seek professional help, it’s safer in the long term.” I growled, “Unless of course you don’t want your birthday present.”
“Huh? What present?”
“Yours. Two weeks tomorrow isn’t it?”
”Wait, how did you, I didn’t put the right date on my CV, the HR database hasn’t got it in, so how the hell…?”
“Magic.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Yep.”
“Will I like it?”
“It’s a surprise, and one you won’t be getting if we don’t get back to business here.”
“That’s hardly fair.”
“And nor is forgetting to mention the comms cupboard on the forth floor doesn’t have a door handle on the inside, but in both cases you learnt a valuable lesson. Now can we please continue?”
“Right, right, where were we?”
“Company, screwing us out of big sums of money, retribution, ring a bell?”
”Oh, yeah, so the plan would be?”
“Well, I was thinking it’s time for you to start taking on some of this relationship management work around here. ”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you might not have the experience, but damn straight you’ve got the attitude down, the rest will come with practice. Now here’s how we’re going to play this one…”
And so, first thing the very next day a young man in a slick suit is found standing around reception. The receptionist, following the instructions she’s been given to the letter, apologises for the delay and directs him towards the coffee pot. The next fifteen minutes are punctuated by a series of calls back and forth as first no-one seems to know where I actually am, then I’m off ill, then I’m not ill but on holiday, then ill again, temporarily dead then restored to alive but not well.
The net result is that our eager beaver sales rep is looking a tad twitchy after several cups of sys admin special coffee (a delicate mix of Rocket Fuel and Pro Plus that can, given a little time to work, bond with ceramic mugs and eat spoons.) and is ever-so relieved when someone hits on the bright idea of getting a substitute decision maker to do the business talk thing. The first number tried is the boss, but as we’ve been having cable problems in that area of the building recently (very recently as it happens, in fact you’d swear it started about five seconds before the call went out, terrible bad luck on timing that one) he doesn’t answer. The big boss is in, but is busy going through the web site logs of his fellow board members for signs of treachery and can’t be disturbed. The rep is, by this point, getting a little testy and starts banging on about this needing to be settled today, possible actionable state of affairs etc etc.
Even over the security cameras I can see the receptionist start daydreaming about Vin Diesel (if her surfing habits are to be believed anyway) as the monkey in a suit revs up the full moral outrage speech. After a few minutes (I guess Vin wasn’t that good after all) she comes up with the splendid idea of seeing if my assistant is about. Phrases like new starter, a little inexperienced, may need some hand holding and best of all, full spending authority, have the poor guy practically drooling into his briefcase as dollar signs float in front of his eyes.
In fact so enthused is he at getting his hooks into this fresh meat, he makes the biggest mistake of his life and disregards the warning from the receptionist about the lifts being ‘a little unreliable’ and hops aboard a vertical transport device only ever used by Operations staff and very stupid people.
Sure enough there’s a failure with the life control software and the cage comes to a halt somewhere between floors three and four. He’s on the emergency intercom in a heartbeat and I reassure him that help’s on its way. Seconds later there’s a simultaneous failure in the power system and the control panel, speaker and lights die. Wonder what the odds where of that happening? Getting back to my desk and pocketing a fuse I found carelessly lying around I fire up the independent security system that no-one but me and the PFY know exists and hit the record button on my PC.
It really is bloody dark in there, and for most systems this would be a problem. However, thanks to a very friendly security firm (with inadequate protection on their client files) the BOFH security network comes with widescreen picture, a full range of zoom options and >click< night vision. The scene shifts to the sort of ghostly green shots you get from the military on your local news channel and all is revealed.
The rep is standing in front of the doors, hand still pressing the intercom switch. Behind and above him a roof panel slides back without a sound and a figure clad head to foot in black drops with cat-like grace to the floor, the carpet masking her impact. The seemingly skin-tight outfit is broken only by what looks like a large bracelet on the right arm with eight large blocks all joined together and an odd looking set of goggles over the eyes. The figure’s definitely female and I allow myself a moment to stare with outright longing and desire at a body that could tempt the pope. She glances up to the hole she came in by and touches something on the bracelet. Silently what looks like two cables drop through the hole, each sporting large, heavy shackles on one end. In the blink of an eye she’s locked both cables around the sales guy’s wrists and, at the touch of a button, the cables pull back up into the ceiling, yanking their prey back until he stands on tiptoes in the middle of the lift, arms stretched way up above his head.
Sadly the one thing I’m lacking here is sound, so I can’t tell what’s being said, but I doubt they were particularly kind words. Of course he still can’t actually see what’s got him, or who else is in the lift with him, I wonder if he’d be more relaxed with the lights on, or if he’d be even more on edge. It’d be interesting to find out, but for this to work properly he can’t be allowed even a glimpse of his captor. Pity.
She goes to work immediately, unbuttoning his jacket and shirt, unbuckling his belt and pulling his trousers down to the floor. Under normal circumstances this would be a pretty erotic show, but I know what’s coming next and there’s a part of me that’s feeling just a little sorry for the guy. Thankfully the rest of me beats it into submission pretty quickly and I grab a bag of popcorn from the supply cupboard in case of mid-movie munchies.
She dives straight in, gloved fingers flying over exposed ribs, digging in and around the helpless flesh. Suddenly I’m quite glad I can’t get sound, from the way he’s thrashing about it’d probably have blown the speakers. I wonder if he can actually see her when she’s that close, probably not, just feel a presence of some kind but I don’t think there’s enough light in there to make out any sort of shapes. Hmm, looks like the armpits are a tad ticklish, one touch and he’s trying to kick her. A bit of a wasted effort in the circumstances, and probably a dumb one too.
Yep, thought so, if there’s one thing she’s not, it’s stupid. If you’re running the risk of catching a boot, get out of the way. She slips behind him, wraps an arm around his waist to hold him still, the other starts flying over his chest, ribs and stomach. No rhyme or reason, no pattern, just a never-ending stream of ticklish stimulation. His legs are definitely struggling, knees going shaky as he laughs. Man, that’s got to be getting well beyond any comfort point by now.
Ah, bang on time, five minutes down and a change of tactics. Her hand goes to the bracelet and pop open one of the boxes, then another. Now there is a sight it would be interesting to show him as she slinks over with a long, flowing feather in one hand and a short, stiff one in the other. Let’s see how she’s going to play this one.
She moves back behind him, the hand holding the short feather wrapping around his waist so the fingers end just to one side of his belly button, the other gets to work with the long feather. Woah, whatever that’s doing I think he likes it, well, a bit anyway. Eyes wide, head back, mouth locked open in laughter might make it more likely that it’s torture but there’s certain, umm, indications that it’s not entirely unpleasant. That changes less than a minute later as that small feather dives into his belly button, swirling around like a miniature ticklish tornado. His legs go and he’s swinging from his wrists, gasping for air as the stiff point of that evil little feather dances around his navel, then up and around his chest as she swaps the flowing vanes of the larger feather down to his stomach and waist.
Dropping the feathers she stands in front of him again and digs both hands into his ribs. Even in the silence of my office I can see the scream, the veins on his neck standing out as his mouth stretches wider than I’d have thought possible. Hands coming around and continuing their assault on his stomach, dipping down a little to his waist and down the side of his thighs. The knees provide a distraction on the journey south, fingers scraping and scrabbling around both front and back. From the look of shock on his face I don’t think he expected to be ticklish there, well we learn something new every day now don’t we?
Continuing down there’s only one place left that she could be going, and I rather suspect he knows it. Again I’m guessing, but from the wide eyed stare, shaking of head and rapid lip movement as she slides her fingers over his calves I’m willing to bet he’s promising pretty much anything right now if she doesn’t go where he thinks she’s going. Not that it does any good of course.
A quick motion over another button on that bracelet and two more cables with matching restraints drop from the hole in the roof. It’s a matter of moments to yank off shoes and socks, and barely five seconds later the guy’s rocking on his knees, feet pulled up behind him by the now-tight cables, feet bare and helpless to whatever depravities his tormenter can dream up.
Unfortunately for him, she has a very active imagination, even with the restrictions imposed on her by the setting. I wince as she starts out with what I believe she considers a gentle first move, fingers scraping the full length of his foot, and while the gloves spare him her nails it’s obviously still more than he can comfortably stand. It’s fascinating to watch as he writhes, unable to get any leverage whatsoever in this position, and yet always conscious of the rather nasty consequences of over-balancing and suddenly carrying all his weight on his shoulders.
This goes on for a couple of minutes, and by the end his eyes are screwed shut, breath coming in ragged gasps as he hangs limp in his bondage. As I watch he struggles to recover some semblance of control as she opens another box on her arm and pulls out two tiny, stiff bristled brushes, the heads no bigger than a toothbrush. The instant they hit his soles his head goes back, every muscle in his body tensing, every finger stretching out behind him as he howls. A brief movement on the picture seems to be tears leaking from his eyes, though it’s hard to make out.
Over and over again she rakes his feet with those devastating toys, even dipping them down between his toes from time to time, paying close attention to the state of her captive. Finally he goes still, eyes open and breathing, but all thought of fight driven from him as he surrenders utterly to the torments being inflicted upon him.
At that she ceases her attack and stuffs the tools back into their appropriate places on her arm. She pauses briefly to straighten his shoes, and I spot what looks like a very quick hand movement, though I can’t be sure. Then, using her captive as a ladder she pulls herself up into the roof and disappears into the lift shaft. A few seconds later the shackles pop open and pull back as well, the roof tile slides back into place leaving an exhausted sales rep behind.
I give him about five minutes to get his strength back, and then flick the lights back on. After another few minutes for him to get dressed and check the lift for any sign of an intruder I turn the rest of the power back on and inform him, via the intercom, that the engineer’s fixing the thing as we speak and that he should be moving again in a few minutes. A casual enquiry as to whether or not he’s okay receives a not very convincing “yes, yes of course” answer and barely a minute later the lift resumes its journey.
I’m almost impressed, he’s managing to act as if nothing happened but a power cut, though a slight limp to what was a perfect walk when he entered the building, and a rather dishevelled appearance, gives the game away. The helldesk directs him to Liz’s office, in reality a general purpose meeting room we stick some ‘personal possessions’ in when we need to entertain clients, and casually drops another reference to how ‘she’s new here so go easy on her’. With shark like compassion he almost runs down the corridor and with a confident, friendly knock walks into the room.
