"Metro delay," you blurt out. It is a terrible lie. You realise it the moment the words leave your mouth, too fast to be rehearsed, too specific to be safe, an excuse grabbed from the air like a falling knife, handle first if you are lucky. Your boss tilts his head. "The metro hasn't been delayed in three months." The sentence lands not as information, as accusation. The office noise around you suddenly feels thin, like a soundtrack turned down so the scene can focus on your face. You open your mouth. Close it again. You feel the old call-centre instinct rise, the urge to talk your way out, to stack words until words become a wall. It dies when you see his eyes. He tilts his head toward the direction of the door. "Get out. Off to work." You remain silent, pack your things with hands that want to shake and refuse, and head to the office carrying the small, sharp shame of being caught in a lie too lazy to respect you. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/The office|Head to the office]]