'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the workplace,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a cobbled-together robot, fashioned from
the remaining pieces of several other cobbled-together robots. Dressed in an elf suit.
Two stockings are hung by the Boss' door with care,
In the hopes that a bonus cheque soon will be there.
Security is snug in their office – after boozing
The Christmas punch overspiked to guarantee snoozing.
The Bastard and PFY at a monitor peering
To see if the Cayman's Bank transfer is clearing.
When out from the server room a clattering arises
"Sounds like a chiller fan," the PFY surmises
Away to the viewing screen the Bastard now dashes,
In time to see smoke, flame and a few lightning flashes.
"That's torn it" they gasp, as alerts start their bleeping
The siren is bound to end Security's sleeping.
Then up in Accounting, some figures start squirming
As suspicions of larceny get their confirming..
Down through the stairwell, the booted feet ring
As our two heroes recognise an Accountancy Sting!!!!
Shredding the cookies, zapping the cache,
Erasing the docs from the 16 gig flash.
The door crashing open and lawyers burst in,
Along with constabulary flashing their tin.
A warrant presented for searching of kit
To the casual observer it looks like... deep shit.
But smiles from our heroes – it's all a mistake
There's no banking transfer, just apologies to make.
A test of the audit code, simple as that
No money is missing, no need for "a chat".
The records are verified, while all remain calm
There's nothing amiss, a complete false alarm.
The law soon departing, security too,
The lawyers leave also, with fuck-all to do.
The Beancounters and HR agreed on a plan,
of instant dismissals for "abuse of the LAN".
Demanding to verify servers on-site,
They enter the machine room and flick on the light.
The servers all present and working as stated
Anger dissolving; job cuts abated.
The HR and Beancounter vocal threats cease
As a gloved finger presses on "Halon Release".
Auto door locking, the Halon clouds loom,
Preparing to dump into the server room.
But wait, HR rushes, vaults over a desk
And before you know what, "Halon Hold-Off" is pressed.
Here at a stalemate the two groups are gazing
through triple-thick layers of security glazing.
Then one HR droid pulls a phone from his coat
preparing to dial 9-9-9, with a gloat.
The chuckles from HR and beancounters start fading,
As "Santa's elf" flashes and starts activating.
Self-test completed, it blocks off the door,
Lifts up a floor tile, pulls up a saw.
2-Stroke. 125cc. Nice.
Panic breaks out as the workers avoid
A fully cranked chainsaw in the "hands" of a droid
Ten seconds later, a piezo fanfare,
as a crapload of Halon's released to the air.
Three minutes later the Robot's quiesced,
Chainsaw untainted, the workers "at rest".
An hour after that, Security find
Tragic misadventure (misadventure underlined).
'Twas the night before Christmas, as the lights start to fade
The only thing moving is "Transfer Replayed"...