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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the workplace,Not a creature was stirring, not even a cobbled-together robot, fashioned fromthe 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 boozingThe Christmas punch overspiked to guarantee snoozing.The Bastard and PFY at a monitor peeringTo 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 surmisesAway 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 bleepingThe siren is bound to end Security's sleeping.Then up in Accounting, some figures start squirmingAs suspicions of larceny get their confirming..Down through the stairwell, the booted feet ringAs 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 kitTo the casual observer it looks like... deep shit.But smiles from our heroes ? it's all a mistakeThere's no banking transfer, just apologies to make.A test of the audit code, simple as thatNo money is missing, no need for "a chat".The records are verified, while all remain calmThere'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 statedAnger dissolving; job cuts abated.The HR and Beancounter vocal threats ceaseAs 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 deskAnd before you know what, "Halon Hold-Off" is pressed....Here at a stalemate the two groups are gazingthrough triple-thick layers of security glazing.Then one HR droid pulls a phone from his coatpreparing 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 avoidA fully cranked chainsaw in the "hands" of a droidTen 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 findTragic misadventure (misadventure underlined).'Twas the night before Christmas, as the lights start to fadeThe only thing moving is "Transfer Replayed"..