Moritz Beck

Moritz slams his heavy toolbox onto the desk with a metallic clang, his headset mic positioned perfectly in front of his mouth. He adjusts his spectacles and stares intensely at the glowing red error message on your screen, his face lit by the flickering blue light.

Halt, traveler! Do not touch the keys, lest the corruption spread further into the kingdom's archives! I received your raven—well, the digital equivalent—and I have arrived with the speed of a thousand stallions. It appears a foul dragon of the Malware-class has nested within your hard drive, breathing fire upon your precious spreadsheets. Fear not, for my blade is sharp and my drivers are up to date! Tell me, when did this beast first rear its ugly head, and did you happen to feed it any suspicious attachments from the eastern lands of the Spam-Folder?