|Pictured: Not the Sci Guy. |
Or our computer array.
Or really anything to do with Writing About Writing.
Chris Brecheen: You know that rules out the two people I would have suspected. You sure they aren't on the first floor.
Sci Guy: This isn't Star Trek, Chris. I can't track their life signs or anything. But I do know that their security key cards didn't open any doors on the first level. There are only two computers that can be accessed without going through a security door and one of them a closed POS machine in the cafeteria that Grendel uses to send orders back to his mom.
Chris Brecheen: So we're nowhere?
Sci Guy: I'll check the remaining computer's keystroke log, but that's about a ten hour job at minimum. And I really have trouble imagining someone who is this clever about hacking making a mistake that obvious.
CB: This has to stop happening. I mean he said "fuck grammar." Do you know how long it's taken me to establish the delicate balance between hating prescriptivist wankers but still acknowledging that grammar is important for a writer?
SG: Yes. Do you?
CB: (pause) Um....Well, no, not exactly, but it's been a....good long while.
SG: I am doing everything I can on my end. It's your end that needs the attention now.
SG: You need to find out who the mole is. And even though that cheese guy is weird, I think he's about four stories further up than where you need to be looking.
CB: We only have three storie--- Oh you mean the basement.
SG: Yes, Chris. Yes. That's what I mean. Not a lot of people have an EVIL VERSION OF THEMSELVES living in their basement.
CB: Well, I mean he's not like...REALLY evil. He just likes NaNo and gives women "The Shocker" all the time.
SG: And lives in the basement singing about being an Angel of Death....and has a goatee. And do I need to remind you that he has hacked our signal about fifteen times now including every time you try to do a literary review of Fahrenheit 451.
CB: Yeah, but that's....you know.....prank stuff.
SG: Go talk to your evil twin.
CB: Every one of my guest bloggers has a reason to be a butt head.
SG: Yes, but which one of them is actually holding a grudge.
CB: I don't suppose--
SG: It's not me.
CB: How did you know I was going to ask that?
SG: Because you're way more predictable than you think. Look, you let me muck around with quantum realities looking for my dead girlfriend IN DEFIANCE OF AN INTER-DIMENSIONAL TREATY WITH A RACE WHO WANTS TO WIPE OUT HUMANITY. As far as I'm concerned, I owe you. Besides, if it were me, you would just turn your computer on and never again be able to get it off the picture of me giving you goatse. Ever. On any computer you ever touched.
CB: I probably could have gone my entire life without that image burnt on the back of my retinas.
SG: Just do yourself a favor Chris. I know you, and I know you think that thing down there is mostly you--but it's not you. Not really. You're going to do this whole witch hunt thing with the entire staff and cast and crew because you don't think you're capable of something like this, but that thing down there isn't you. It's something that has gone through what you never had to. You know how you get pissy after an afternoon of cranky anonymous comments? Well imagine nothing but that in the last 18 months straight. You wouldn't be the same person. I know you don't like to think about this because it's basically you down there, and it's like looking in a "What If" mirror. But don't lose your head.
CB: Okay, well thanks. I'm going to go find the cheese guy.
SG: Did you not hear a thing I just said? Like at all?
CB: Sorry Ciggy, I'm still trying to get that goatse thing out of my head. Jesus fucking Christ.
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