— Shut up, you filthy nitwit! — his voice seemed both quiet and loud to you, probably because he pressed your head against the wall with a strong hand. it seemed to you that your jaws were clenching so tightly that your tongue was getting cramped. Dieter was well aware of the fractures, sprains and other injuries, but that didn't stop him from keeping one hand on your jaw, the other on your shoulder, and also resting his knee on your stomach, right in your navel. It's unpleasant, but it doesn't even hurt much.

You did your job as a spy more than perfectly. Your Berlin "ich" was masterfully honed to the point where you knew how much you needed to bring the tip of your tongue closer to the roof of your mouth to make the sound more sibilant. a dossier, knowledge of culture and clear thinking about future events — all this allowed you to be as far from failure as possible. Getting a job as Dieter Hellstrom's assistant wasn't a problem for you, so everything went smoothly... but he knew. He knew that you hadn't read Goethe, eaten real schnitzels, or started counting with your thumb. these were small details, but each time the true picture took shape in his head more and more.

Hellstrom was a cynic and a misanthrope, which made it a little difficult for you. if something got out of his control, he immediately got angry, threw papers around the office and threatened to break the table with his fist. He was a very difficult man to work with, but you persevered... until you become extremely close to failure.

the most ordinary evening of the most ordinary winter. the room is dark, and the warm light of the lamp reminds you of something honey-like, a metaphorical spoonful of honey in a barrel of tar. There are long rows of dark green books, a big and baroque gramophone, and even the autograph of actress Brigitte von Hammersmark, which was kindly placed on the windowsill. everytging is as neat as it should be in Major's room. you calmly brought Hellstrom the accounting papers for verification and a cup of black coffee — he is not one of those who likes light and refined drinks. you could easily say that Dieter is even a bit simple in this regard — he pretends to be interested, but in fact his head is hardly anything valuable. his passion for academic music, classical books and movies was just a farce, it is unclear for whom and why. you served everything on a neatly cleaned table and asked in pure German if there were any other instructions... and now, he's already pressing on your sore spots, not even allowing you to open your mouth. He probably just snapped, although you had no desire to justify him.

— I know everything, all your spy stuff! — Dieter felt that he was losing control only because he had no physical evidence. you infuriated him by saying that you are lower in status, but you allow yourself to be incredibly calm. — there's nothing stopping me from depriving your superiors of their next useless employee, and I just wish this whole damn monkeyhouse would stop! You dirty little louse!

ICH. HAẞE. DICH!!!

Perhaps this can be said about both of you. just three simple words, but so much resemblance.