Scene: The Conference Room of Chaos
Location: A large, slightly stuffy conference room in the Netherlands. It’s cold outside, but inside, the pressure is heating up. Twenty sharp IT security engineers and managers are seated at rows of tables, pens in hand, eyes forward. They’re expecting brilliance.
Opening shot: Mike, the instructor, stands at the front of the room, gripping the remote for the projector like it’s his last lifeline. He’s been on his feet for five hours, navigating a minefield of malware slides.
Narrator (V.O.):
“Mike was a smart guy. Very competent, knowledgeable—usually. But today, he’s in deep water, and not the refreshing kind. You see, these aren’t his slides. They’re Tom’s. Tom, who should’ve been here teaching this class, but instead left Mike holding the digital grenade that is a malware analysis course.”
Cut to: Mike’s internal monologue.
Mike (thinking):
“Just two more hours. I can make it. They don’t know I have no idea what I’m doing. They don’t need to know.”
Mike clicks to the last slide. The screen glows with the text: “Thank you! Any questions?” He turns back to the audience, expecting to exhale in relief. But they’re not done. The hunger for knowledge is palpable. They smell blood.
Mike (out loud, cautiously):
“Uh, so that’s all I have prepared… What do you guys want to do now?”
Enter Ron: The Client.
Ron, sitting at the back of the room, leans forward. He knows Mike well enough to see the beads of nervous sweat forming.
Ron (cheerfully):
“Well Mike, we’ve still got time. I don’t want to waste it. Do you have any other malware you could analyze with the group?”
Mike freezes.
Mike (internal monologue):
“Malware? More malware? How much malware does he think I keep in my back pocket?!”
Mike (nervously laughing):
“Uh, nope. This is Tom’s thing, not mine. You got any?”
Ron’s grin widens.
Ron (almost too casually):
“Well, funny you should ask… I’ve got this USB stick…”
*Close-up: A bright neon red USB stick emerges from Ron’s bag, like a villain unveiling the device of doom. The room falls silent as the stick is handed to Mike. The words “Danger” scrawled across the plastic like a warning from the gods themselves.
Mike squints at the USB.
Mike (internal monologue):
“Oh no… Ron’s one of those guys who collects malware like people collect stamps.”
Ron (as if it’s the most casual thing in the world):
“There’s a folder on there called ‘Danger.’ There might be something interesting for the class.”
Mike sighs.
“Sure. Sure, let’s do it. But I’m going to need about 30 minutes to reset my VMs. I’ll restore them to a clean state.”
Cut to: Montage of Mike resetting the virtual machines, muttering to himself about Tom. Meanwhile, the students file out for a coffee break. Fast-forward through 30 minutes of clicking, typing, and Mike trying to avoid a meltdown.
The class returns, brimming with caffeinated enthusiasm. Mike finally plugs in the USB, now fully equipped with fresh VMs ready for the inevitable.
Mike (grimly):
“Alright, folks. Let’s see what’s in the ‘Danger’ folder.”
He opens the folder with a flair he doesn’t feel.
Ron (innocently):
“Oh, I really don’t remember what any of those files do.”
Mike (now sweating more):
“Great. Fantastic.”
Mike picks a random file, moves it to one of the VMs, and addresses the class like a man about to defuse a bomb.
Mike (confidently, though he has no idea):
“We’re dealing with an unknown piece of malware here. Let’s analyze it together.”
He double-clicks the file. The room holds its breath.
Then, nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The mouse stops responding. Mike’s fingers hammer the keyboard. It’s dead. The class watches, confused. Mike’s face flushes. He looks at Ron, who suddenly lights up with a memory.
Ron (grinning):
“Ohhh. I remember what that one does.”
All eyes turn to Ron. Mike’s stomach sinks.
“What… does it do?”
Ron (laughing now):
“Yeah, that one disables all input devices if it detects it’s in a virtual machine. So… your keyboard and mouse? Totally useless now.”
Mike (frantic):
“What?! How do I fix it?!”
Ron shrugs, still smiling.
“Well, you’ll need to reboot the VM.”
Mike glances at the full-screen VM window, trapping his only hope for salvation.
Mike (strained):
“I can’t get to the console… to reboot it.”
Ron (casually, with a chuckle):
“Then I guess you’re rebooting your laptop. No worries, we’ve got more malware on the stick. I’m sure the rest of it’s fine.”
Silence. The students giggle, then chuckle, and finally burst into full-on laughter.
Mike (deadpan):
“You mean I’ve got to reset the entire environment again? Another 30 minutes?”
Ron (smirking):
“Hey, it was in a folder called ‘Danger.’ On a neon red stick.”
Close-up: Mike stares blankly into the middle distance, going through the stages of grief. Finally, he sighs, throwing his hands up.
Mike (resigned):
“Why… why did you give me that file?”
Narrator (V.O., as the room explodes with laughter):
“And so, on that cold, gray day in the Netherlands, Mike learned the true meaning of ‘Danger’ on a stick.”
Fade out.
iamnor 
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