Transcription

[[Sharon is at her workstation, diagnosing the extent of the virus' spread. Trent stands behind her, indignant, arms crossed, while Tim looks on.]]
Sharon: Good grief, Trent! How many times do I have to tell you not to open spam anymore?
Trent: Just wait until I get my complementary flatscreen TV and PSP...

Sharon: This thing is voracious! It's spreading like mad, clogging the LAN. Fortunately, most of the machines have the latest security patches, so infections are at a minimum.

Sharon: [face-to-face with Trent] I'll just take your machine off the LAN until I can do a full scan and clean on it.
Trent: And how am I supposed to WORK then?
Sharon: Do what you do 95% of the time: use your PHONE.

Sharon: [sitting at her workstation again] Sorry, Tim. This takes priority. But it should only take a few minutes...
Tim: [Ominously shadowed] Mind if I... observe?
Sharon: Not at all.