For Internal Use Only - Please Do Not Forward

Email Surveillance

It was Friday morning, clear and crisp in Scranton, and Michael Scott was feeling unusually optimistic.

He stood at the window of his office, coffee in hand, squinting out at the parking lot like a suburban sentinel.

"It is Friday morning," he said aloud to no one, "and it is another beautiful day in Scranton, Pennsylvania."

Just then, his eyes caught movement near the front entrance. A man in a turban walked past the glass doors, carrying a laptop bag.

"Oh my God."

Michael lunged for his phone, stabbing at the speed dial.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up," he muttered. No answer.

He stood abruptly and burst out of his office, panic rising.

"Alright, everybody—lock the doors, turn off the lights. Pretend you're not here."

The bullpen went still.

Jim looked up from his monitor, eyebrow raised. "Are we in danger?"

"There's no time to think about if this is real," Michael whispered, waving his arms like he was trying to disperse a cloud of bees. "Just—shh. Everybody. Quiet."

From the back of the room, Kevin squinted. "Michael, should I call the—"

Michael whipped around, flapping his hands wildly. "No talking!"

A knock came at the front door.

The entire office froze.

Angela had already ducked below her desk. Creed was motionless in his chair like a lizard pretending to be a rock. Phyllis looked confused, holding a yarn bundle mid-stitch.

From her desk in the far corner, Sloane sipped her tea slowly. She didn't move.

Ryan, watching the scene from his desk across from her, leaned slightly in her direction.

"You think we should be panicking?" he asked softly.

Sloane didn't look up. "If there's an actual threat, Michael will be the first to go."

Ryan nodded. "That's comforting."

"No," she said. "That's strategic."

The knock came again—polite, even.

Michael crept toward the front, pressing his back against the wall as if he were approaching a hostage situation.

"Okay," he hissed. "Nobody move."

Jim turned to the camera, deadpan. "Pretty sure the IT guy just got here."

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MICHAEL

The IT tech guy and me did not get off to a great start.

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The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Most of the office was relatively quiet, except for the sound of fingers tapping against keyboards and someone's microwaved soup slurping in the background.

At their respective desks, Ryan and Sloane were quietly working. Sloane had one leg tucked beneath her and a small cup of yogurt balanced in her lap, the foil lid folded into a precise square on her desk.

Just a few desks over, Oscar squinted at his computer.

"Huh."

Angela looked up. "What?"