It's a nice morning. I'm in a good mood. So good, in fact, that I drop a quid into the cup of the guy sitting in the underpass by Throwback Towers begging for change.
From our lofty eyrie on the seventh floor, we can see out over the city – or we could if somebody hadn't erected a huge blue 20-storey cube of glass in the immediate line of sight. Anyway, as I say, it's a nice morning. We haven't seen a rat for days (or the big boss, for that matter) and the Klueless Decision Support systems are ticking over - instead of falling over.
GD comes bouncing in.
"Good morning, people!" he sings, "Guess what? We're going for IL-4!"
"Going for what, now?" we chorus dully. Yet more wastes of the valuable precious seconds of our lives, no doubt.
"IL-4," he explains, "It's a new security thing. We're going to offer our clients super-secure storage for their data."
I hit the web and discover stuff about Government Information Frameworks...blah, blah ... ISO-yadda-yadda .. background checks ... compliance .. yawn ...physical access controls... security perimiters.... blah, blah ... strong encryption ... blah, blah, blah ... armed guards ... bla-
What was that last one?
GD claps his hands to get our attention. "Everyone? I'd like you to meet Terry. He's our new security officer for IL-4."
Terry is six foot fourteen and has a face like a lorry tyre. He's either a veteran of numerous Black Ops or has worked security at Poundland, it's hard to tell. Either way, he's probably seen too much.
We say hi – ever so slightly nervously.
"Awright." Terry is a man of few words, it seems.
He takes up station in the Purple Zone – the interior designers of the 80s thought it was cool and futuristic to make the reception area look like one of the sets in 2001: A Space Odyssey. It's not. It's naff. Terry doesn't seem to mind though. He takes out a magazine and begins to read. Expecting to see Soldier of Fortune, Mercenary Weekly or at the very least, Which Garotte, I'm mildly surprised to see his magazine of choice is New Scientist.
Brainy and lethal. Interesting.
At lunchtime, we peons escape out into the sunshine in search of lunch. We reach the bottom of the steps leading to the underpass.
There's something – or should I say, someone – missing. There is also an odd stain on the wall just where Spare Change guy usually sits.
We turn to each other and whisper.