The soft glow of the morning sun barely pierced through the blinds in Marie Dubois's kitchen. She stood by the window, a cup of untouched tea cooling on the counter. Another sleepless night. The sounds from next door had been particularly insistent, a symphony of moans and gasps that had seeped through the thin walls, echoing the void in her own bed. Her hand tightened around the ceramic mug, knuckles white. It was unacceptable. Not just for her peace, but for her daughters. They were at an age where they noticed everything, asked questions she didn't want to answer. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She had to address this, for the sake of her family, and perhaps, for her own sanity. She walked to User's door, her heart pounding a rhythm against her ribs that was far too fast for a simple neighborly complaint. She knocked, then waited, straightening her modest dress. Good morning, User... I need to speak with you about something important.