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The man in the grey suit was angry.

If there was something he had always hated, something that put him out of his senses and that he couldn't tolerate, was that someone forced him to change his plans. Time had to be organized, measured and classified; all hours of his precious life had a single purpose and nothing or no one could change that. Unexpected events like that one simply shouldn't exist. Nothing that stood between him and the perfect realization of his schedule should exist.

And, however, someone had dared to bother him. Someone whom not even he could talk back for spoiling his precious agenda. The animals, in any case, were to blame. Yes, it couldn't be otherwise, he told himself. The man in the grey suit directed all his anger at them, as the footsteps of his black shoes, shiny under a recent polish layer, echoed in each corner of the underground station. Or would have echoed, if the song of iron and brakes that came from the giant trains stopping by the platform hadn't muffled it.

He pushed the people aside as he went up the escalator and made his way to the exit. The big building stood there, across the street. Hopefully, he would only need to stay a few minutes there; an hour at most. One hour, in spite of being an awful waste, he could afford. The man in the grey suit glanced at his wrist, where an elegant silver wristwatch gleamed. Then, he sighed and crossed the street.

He didn't greet the receptionist nor gave a single look to the people who waited for the lift beside him. He didn't exchange a single word with them during the short journey, not even when they left the elevator. The man in the grey suit stood alone in that claustrophobic cubicle, only accompanied with a shy melody. Finally, when the lift stopped in the top floor and the opening between the metallic doors was enough for him to sneak between them, he got out quickly. He walked down a large corridor flanked by picture windows and he went directly to the only door that stood at the end of it.

The secretary didn't stop him, so he simply knocked the door twice and waited for a few seconds. The answer came quickly and the man in the grey suit sneaked into the office like a second.

It was a big, spacious room, full of light and with a slight smell of cigars in the air. Most of the walls were made of glass, which reinforced the feeling of amplitude and provided astonishing views of the city that spread at the foot of the building, electrical and roaring. However, the man in the grey suit didn't even take a look at that tide of light and sound. At that time, doing so would have supposed a downright waste of time.

-Oh, Mr. Zero –a voice greeted him, from one of the corners in the office -. I'd love to say I had been waiting for you, but you've been astonishingly punctual. Yes, astonishingly punctual.

-I received an urgent call –the man in the grey suit replied, defensively -. I was told to be here at six o'clock.

Saying those words, Mr. Zero fixed his grey-colored eyes in the person he was talking to. He was a bulky man, with a protruding belly he barely hid under an expensive maroon suit that was obviously in a worse condition than his own grey one. The man's hair had an intense yellow color which could hardly be natural, but was disheveled and fell in a messy bob. On the other hand, Mr. Zero's hair was perfectly smoothed back with gel, although some grey was starting to appear here and there, giving it a silvery shade.

There was something invisible that surrounded that man in the maroon suit. It could be felt in the exclusive brand of his suit and it could be felt in his hair's dye, in each inch of his impossibly perfect skin and in his haughty, arrogant demeanor: that man was stinking rich.

-And it's six o' clock –he was replying at that moment, taking idly a book off the shelf beside him -. Your exactitude is irreproachable. I shall not keep you for long.

<<I hope it's true>> the man in the grey suit thought, without a blink. The man who had called him was then introducing one of his hands into the gap the book had left in the shelf and seemed to be looking for something. Meanwhile, he continued talking:

-It is my understanding that you are aware of the plans we are carrying out in connection to the Prometheus project. Am I wrong?

-Not at all.

-I understand you therefore know the activities that have been taking place in the Hubert containment and habituation units.

-Right.

-I do not imagine that you know every single Hubert units, but…

-I know them –Mr. Zero intervened -. I worked in their design and distribution in the earliest phase of the project.

-Do not interrupt me –the man in the maroon suit reprehended him, giving him an irritated look. Then, he took a little wooden box out of the gap in the shelf and let out a satisfied grunt, like a cat which had just been petted. He didn't seem as willing to go to the point as before.

But the man in the grey suit held on stoically, even when the man he was talking to walked with an exasperating slowness to his desk and sat in the sumptuous leather armchair placed behind. From there, he let out a long, tired sigh and opened the box.

-Do you want one? –he asked, showing the box's content. It filled with cigars that were without a doubt spectacularly expensive.

Mr. Zero shook his head.

The man in the maroon suit took then a gold plated lighter and lighted one of the cigars. Then he took it to his lips, had a long puff and, after holding his breath for a few seconds, he let it out in such a way that a dense cloud of smoke rose over his head.

-The Unit B37 has fallen –he said then, quite naturally. Mr. Zero squirmed, uneasy -. Did you know that one?

-I know specially that unit –the man in the grey suit replied, but he didn't say anything else. He was trying to reckon how much time that setback would take from them, in vain.

-I know –the other said, giving him a wide shark-like grin -. That's why I called you. If there's someone who can handle this, it is you. You are not only one of the most qualified workers I can rely on, but you also have an outstanding debt with me, don't you? I can't think of a better occasion for you to return that favor, Mr. Zero. And still, I somehow feel I'm being generous with you. Too generous.

-Yes –the man in the grey suit admitted, impassive -. What should I do?

There was a short silence. Mr. Zero waited, patiently, as the man in the maroon suit had another puff of the cigar he held between his fingers.

-I don't care how much money it takes –he murmured, after a few seconds -. Spend whatever you need, call whoever you need, kill whoever you need. Just prevent this problem to spread out. Get rid of the rotten apples, will you? And don't leave a single seed.

The man in the grey suit nodded. Determined to squeeze every second, he turned and strode to the office's door. However, when he had just opened the door half-way and was about to leave, the other man's deep voice echoed behind him:

-Oh, by the way. There is something you should know, in the event that your debt is not enough to encourage you. –There was another pause, in which probably the man had another puff of his cigar -. Camus is dead.

A brief silence followed those words.

-I see –Mr. Zero finally said, nodding -. What about Lefebvre?

The man in the grey suit chuckled.

-Of course, she is alive. She is too slippery in order to die.

-True –Mr. Zero murmured.

He went out of the office without saying goodbye. The door closed behind him and, without looking back, he walked down the corridor. His quick, firm steps took him to the lift and, once he was inside and descending fast to the ground floor, his face didn't change in the slightest.

His eyes reflected the analogic numbers that appeared and disappeared in the lift's panel. Like them, his time was also decreasing. He had too much to do and a too little leeway to do it, but even before he had gone out the office, he had already established in his mind a provisional schedule so he didn't lose a single second. His superior was right: if there was someone who could fix the mess of the Unit B37, it was him. It was his responsibility and he would do it in less time than any other.

However, he couldn't help but let out an annoyed grunt right before the lift doors opened and he rushed to the hall.

He hated having to deal with other people's wasted time.