You grimace as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore the noise. They'll go away, you think to yourself - half in reassurance, half in prayer. They'll hear no response, assume nobody's home, and-

«KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!»

You roll over, covering your head with your pillow, and stubbornly cling to the last shreds of sleep as they start to slip away from you. No. No, not on this day. This is your day off. You are going to SLEEP. They can come back in two hours or so, when-

«KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!»

...when it's a decent hour for you. In the meantime, you have a warm bed and an exhausted body and you have EARNED every moment of-

«KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!»

"GOD DAMN IT!" You pound your fist repeatedly into your mattress before throwing your blanket aside and storming through your apartment towards the door. Flinging it open, you roar into the hallway:

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!"

Standing impassively in front of your door, clutching a briefcase, is a professionally-dressed man in an expensive-looking suit. His only response to your angry outburst is to clear his throat, sigh, and ask a question.

"Are you Noah Rossum?"