Cheek resting on his upright fist, Joe stared despondently at the bank of video monitors. His parched eyes blinked painfully conscious of last night’s ambitious pub crawl culminating in passing out on the couch at 8 am. He had no recollection of how he got home, but with the double shift staring him in the face he felt spiteful. The dull but constant headache told him one thing: he needed, if not the hair, the whole of the dog that bit him.

It was against VirCorp company policy to drink while on duty--unless, of course you were in management. Alcohol in this scenario was considered a social lubricant to help close deals as well as a reasonable (and legal) excuse for any poor decision-making. But down among the rabble, Sector C Security Chief Joe Noone was expected to set the example for all of his subordinates. The fact that non-developmental research personnel budget cuts had left Joe only one subordinate (Sector C’s crocus plant, affectionately named Dennis) held no bearing on the matter.

Still Joe, like any employee who actually does ‘work’ (a concept lost on most marketing executives), found ways around the system: concealment. Inspired by reading Secrets of Ninja Mooching, Joe was able to sneak away from the office Christmas party with a case of Frothing Scotsman whiskey while disguised as a handle-bar-mustachioed caterer. Secreting the bottles of the powerful scotch in a hollowed out monitor, Joe managed to secure a stash.

The pain of the sharpening hangover cut short Joe’s reminiscence and he removed the front panel of the monitor. Taking a cursory glance at the active monitors (and the obligatory look over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching), Joe reached into the blackness until his fingers found purchase. Before leaving its hollow enclosure, Joe uncapped the bottle (clandestinely relabeled “Monitor Polish, 150 proof”) and savored the pungent aroma within. He tilted the bottle back and took a big swig, "Ah, that's better."

Reclining in his cheap office chair, he took another drink. Then another. Then another, and another, and another, and another, until he finished the bottle and passed out, falling flat on his face, slobbering onto the floor. As face met floor, a wicked shadow among the monitor glow banged its knee on the desk, cursed, and then moved clumsily in on its prey.