#lyrates

With transport provided for by the company, a hover shuttle delivers him directly to the required floor's private air dock, feet never needing to trod upon the foyer's carpets whilst yet more time is saved by cutting out the needless preamble of front-desk pleasantries. With yet another chance at human interaction lost, he seeks out the increasingly isolating confines of the lab as he moves along a corridor, stopping only on the threshold to a door locked down by a card scanner.

Taking care of the lock with a wave of his identity card, the loosened catch emits an electronic beep as the seals disengage, metal pulling away to allow him inside. The sight that greets him runs entirely counter to his well-kept, groomed appearance; here, hundreds of various hardware and electronic cables greet each visitor, criss-crossing all over the floor to feed a wall stacked high by monitors of all shapes and sizes. Possessing no knack for technology, deferring instead to the technically minded genius of his younger brother, the elder O'Hara took one look at the pile of screens and turned away with haste, seeking, with some urgency, the comfort of science and lab testing -- where real, tangible progress was beginning to teem, which the male preferred.

Pulling up a stool, he puts his face to the viewer of a microscope, re-examining one of the various samples taken of work that showed true progress -- and potentially even commercial application further down the line, if he played his cards correctly. But, whilst dreams of future successes were growing in appeal to him, Miguel still had the small matter of contending with the present to deal with, thoughts that saw his mind consider checking up on the work that could eventually put him on the map, making his name to be just as historic as other prominent individuals in recent years. To this end, struck by a need to know, he pulls himself away from the microscope, making a beeline for his desk until...

A sight on the screen stops him cold, the usual Alchemax company login portal and logo replaced by something he could not distinguish or readily identify. Knowing only, as a cold chill crawled up his spine, reality daring to rush in and overwhelm him, that some sort of virus or malware had managed to infect his work station. A vitally important computer that, due to strict security policy, had seen practically all of his work and critical research documents be restricted and confined to such a trundling, hulking mass of degrading plastic, metal and steel.

Without it, he was nothing. Of no use to the company. He needed to do something, and quickly. So he decided to make a call, hitting the button on the communicator that sat on his desk for what he hoped was the helpdesk.

Not yet releasing that the line had already been compromised.

"Hello? Support? Need some assistance here, 46th floor. Yes, I'll hold."