Your name

1. The neighbours

The elevator stopped on the seventeenth floor of the Iceberg Consulting building. A tall young man in a black suit stepped out into the corridor and walked heavily towards the office of the company's CEO. If it had been his will, the earth would have opened up from the force of his anger and swallowed this entire structure completely.

At the very door he stopped briefly. Heavy, bulky, custom-made from several types of wood, although it looked modern, this door always reminded him of the gates of hell. And now the faithful demon will enter them for the last time. He took a slow breath, trying to calm the destructive nature raging inside, and as he exhaled, he pulled the handle.

Oddly enough, the gates of hell did not even creak. There was no smoke, no smell of sulfur, no flames. There was only a short, overweight man in his fifties, sitting in the chair at an indecently large table, the main decoration of which was a nameplate made of thick dark glass with sparkling gold calligraphic engraving "G. Moody."

"You're back!" he exclaimed, looking up at the newcomer, and immediately put aside the pile of papers with which he had been extremely preoccupied just a second ago. "You were away for quite a long time. How's the mission?"

The man continued to stand silently in the doorway, clenching his fists tightly and glaring at the director. He would have incinerated him if he could. Everything about this man disgusted him now: his slicked-back, thinning gray hair, his thick mustache, his small eyes hidden behind glasses, his designer jacket that barely fit his belly... But what infuriated him most was what Moody expected from him.

"You didn't say who the target was," he muttered angrily through his teeth and in two long steps found himself right next to the table.

"You've been told exactly what you needed to know," Moody answered calmly, as if not noticing how angry the man in front of him was. "I give you a name, and you work. It's that simple."

"She's only fifteen!"

"It does not matter. She's part of the contract."

"She's a child!"

From a sharp blow with fists on the table, the glass nameplate shook dangerously. Unlike the director. He continued to maintain enviable composure and only winced in irritation.

"Don't throw tantrums, please. Did you carry out the order or not?"

"Yes," after a short pause he answered calmly, looking gloomily at his feet. "And that is all."

"So that's great!" Satisfied with the answer, Moody clapped his hands and, casually waving towards the door, returned to the papers. "Of course, go, now you can rest."

"You did not understand. I'm done. You can consider me to be retiring. Anyway, in this business it's either early or never..."

"What are you talking about?!"

In an instant, not a trace remained of the director's calmness. He was ready to jump up from his seat, but only jerked in his chair and slammed his fist menacingly on the table. However, neither the scream nor the threatening expression on his face had the desired effect on the man. He did not raise an eyebrow and continued in the same cold tone.

"We had an agreement. Just one single condition. And you broke it."

He turned around and headed towards the exit when Moody shouted again.

"You can't leave like that!"

"Oh, yes, I can," he answered, frozen in place, and then turned around and gave the director a look that did not bode well. "Remember when Johnny Bianco's car blew up two years ago? Try to stop me, and the next one will be yours."