Flash Friday: Minion Man

Dear Team,

The integration of the CP4 software system with the CP3 system is an integral selling point that should be brought up whenever speaking to current or potential clients. When discussing the benefits of our software over the functionality of competitor software such as ForceTrends, remember to always specify this strong advantage, as it is sure to generate more sales. Also, the second floor men’s bathroom is for executives only, please refrain from using it in the future.

Sincerely,

Lorn Impa
President and CEO
Remote Solutions Inc.

“Another friendly email from your’s truly,” said Elam.

“I guess I’ll have to hold it until I get home from now on,” said Forsander, peering over the silver lined cubicle in search of eavesdroppers, “good thing I made my mark under the paper towel dispenser yesterday.”

The pecking of Sally Jane’s keyboard stopped as she raised her eyelids towards the chuckling duo.

“Elam can I speak with you for a second. In my office,” said Mr. Rabon, Elam’s supervisor.

In Mr. Rabon’s office, Elam rubbed his legs against the red felt chair, while pressing his hands against the arms.

“There’s a strange discrepancy in the phone logs that we are trying to figure out,” said Mr. Rabon, staring at his computer monitor while addressing Elam. “Some large chunks of recordings are missing from five employees and you are one of them.

“That is strange.”

We discovered Forsander’s IP address as the root of the problem and we know he has been removing chunks of recordings in order to hide something.”

“What could Forsander possibly be trying to hide. I sit right next to him and I hear everything he says.”

“That’s why I’m concerned that you might be involved,” said Mr Rabon.

“Sir I can assure you that all my calls are left as is and nothing has been tinkered with.”

“You better be telling the truth. If we see any more spots in the phone recordings you will have to be dismissed.”

Elam returned to his desk and noticed that all of Forsander’s belongings were cleaned off his desk: the Dwight Schrute bobble head, the dying Poinsettia from his mom on Christmas, along with his files.

Sally Jane was looking over when Elam noticed her, she sensed the beam of Elam’s glance and whipped her head sideways tossing her salty white hair across her face.

“Sally Jane, what happened to Forsander?” asked Elam.

“Mr. Impa came in while you were gone and fired him.”

“Elam, I know you were friends with Forsander and I just want to make sure that you remember to not discuss anything about Remote Solutions with any former employees.” It was Mr. Impa.

Mr. Impa, a scrawny pale man with bleach blonde hair stood quietly behind Elam.

“Yes sir.”

After 5pm struck, Elam walked down the hallway to go home, when he saw Sally Jane peering around the hallway and going up to the second floor. He followed her and hid behind a fern so not to be seen. Sally Jane glanced around for anyone watching and entered into the men’s bathroom with an orange North Face backpack latched to one shoulder. 5 minutes passed when a strange sound, like the revving of a car engine burst from the bathroom. A glowing orange light flashed from beneath the door and pursued for at least ten minutes. Elam knew he should leave and looked for an exit, when Sally Jane burst open the door, clashing the wooden barrier into the white drywall. She stood there with a vacuum-like tubular machine grasped with two hands, white smoke simmering from the tip. She folded the plastic machine and placed it in the backpack, disappearing into the staircase.

Elam darted into the bathroom. The usual grunginess had vanished: the stall doors lacked writing, the faucets sparkled silver and the trash can picked clean. He looked underneath the paper towel dispenser and saw some writing: We are minions. Check the fax machine next to the coffee maker.

Elam went downstairs and looked at the dusty fax machine. A letter transmitted through that read: They are not from our world. Get out now. Elam moved his eyes up, towards the cubicles without budging his head. Sally Jane’s tinted green eyes stared at him. She stood, arms to her side, ready to pounce. Mr. Impa appeared from behind her.

“Elam what just came in. Can I see that please,” said Mr. Impa, extending his hand upward.

He started walking towards Elam at a fast pace, grabbing a paper weight from a nearby desk on his way. Elam sprinted through the office door behind him and gasped for air once reaching the parking lot.

Elam walked quickly to his car when five black cars poured into the parking lot, all sporting ForceTrend logos on the doors. Forsander hopped out of one of the SUV’s with several other men.

“Forsander were you giving information to ForceTrends the whole time,” asked Elam.

“Elam listen to me, these guys are here to help. Impa is evil.”

The men began sliding on tinfoil suits and arming themselves with transparent glass pistols. The team of maybe fifteen men crashed into the office. When they looked around no one was to be found. All the computers flashed green and black screens. Elam noticed a hole in the carpet by the refrigerator, as if someone had burrowed their way into the ground.

“Elam what was the last peice of code that you inserted into the CP4 software,” asked a tinfoil man.

“It was linking the CP3 and CP4 systems,” said Elam.

“Why?”

” I don’t know, so that all the cable and satellite companies could transfer their customer data seamlessly, and still get all the new features of segmenting their ad campaigns.”

“Ad campaigns where?”

“I don’t know. Everywhere. Worldwide,” said Elam.

“The CP4 server is gone Elam. They extracted all the data and vanished,” said Forsander.

“What do you mean, we have been working on that for a year and a half, we have clients relying on that transfer,” said Elam. ” There is no chance Impa would let the server out of his sight.”

“All the aliens wanted was the customer information in their own database. They can tap into virtually every phone line, television set and internet connection in the world with all that information,” said the tinfoil man.

“Aliens? It’s just a software company,” said Elam, pressing his his fingers against his forehead, felling the warm beads of sweat accumulating.

“Elam if we can find where the CP4 server was being held and where all that data was being transferred, we can possibly find a link to the system and still encrypt all the data. Do you have any idea where the headquarters might have been?” asked the tinfoil man.

“You can start in the men’s bathroom, second floor.”

THE END