Malcolm, maybe we're making matters worse. We're making them think we've got a live one. I just think we're overreacting.
No no no no no. We nip this in the fucking knackers now, okay?
(smiling) It's been, uh, a wonderful experience here. I think I'll leave you all to it. My work here is done.
(to Ben) Whoa whoa whoa whoa no no no no. You're staying here, mate.
(objecting) I'm not staying here. You haven't even got biscuits here.
You stay here, right? The situation's fucking febrile.
(Ben is puzzled by the word "febrile.")
You don't fucking know what febrile means.
No.
No you don't. It-It means there are gonna be hysterical journalists, right? Watching every fucking move we make. So I want you unplugged from the mains until the danger's past.
(calling out from Nicola's office) Right, there's-there's a few journalists out there already.
(to Ben) See? See, there you are. It's a fucking feeding frenzy.
Yeah? Well, not in here, it's not.
(again to Ben) Don't panic, Orca. We'll get sandwiches, okay? (to Ollie) How many are there there?
Eight.
Right. Eight constitutes a lockdown.
(And so, Malcolm leaves Nicola's office to lock DoSAC down.)
Right, people, listen up! It's a fucking lockdown! Right now!
Oh, come off it! We're not in a prison drama, are we?
(to Nicola) We are in a prison drama and this is the fucking Shawshank Redemption, right? But with more tunnelling through shit and no fucking redemption. (back to the crowd) Right, people, nobody move, right? Nobody move, nobody gets fucking truncheoned in the face. This is a lockdown, right? What that means is this office is now an isolation unit. Do not use the phones. No fucking emails. (to Glenn, who's still on his cell phone) No phones, Glenn. Come on.
(ending his phone call) I-I've got to go. Bye.
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