INT. ISIS HQ – BRIEFING ROOM – DAY
Archer lounges in his chair, sunglasses on indoors. Lana is already annoyed, Cyril is nervously flipping through a report, and Malory is chain-smoking while glaring at everyone.
MALORY: (snapping)
Archer, pay attention! We have a cyberattack scenario to run through.
ARCHER:
Oh, what, like Code Red? You know, the virus that infected the World Trade Center servers? Cost billions to fix? Yeah, pretty sure that brought me down faster than a “controlled demolition.”
LANA:
Oh my God, Archer—
ARCHER:
No, seriously, Lana. Forget explosives, forget shady contractors—just unleash one worm into the wrong system and bam—I’m face-down on the carpet faster than Cyril in a wine bar fight.
CYRIL: (offended)
Hey! I only—
ARCHER:
—spilled an entire bottle of Merlot before the first punch was thrown. Yes, we know.
MALORY: (sighing)
For God’s sake, do you ever take anything seriously?
ARCHER:
Yes! Like my blood-alcohol content. Also, the fact that some computer nerd can destroy an entire economy from his mom’s basement faster than ISIS—our ISIS—can fill out a mission requisition form.
LANA:
That’s not even remotely the same thing.
ARCHER:
Sure it is. Both end with me broke, drunk, and yelling at Pam for spending my emergency fund on illegal shrimp.
PAM: (popping her head in with a mouth full of shrimp)
Worth it.
ARCHER:
Debatable.
