The Fat Man watched from his window as Zyra escaped.
‘Run, run, run,’ he breathed. ‘Run as fast as you can and as far as you like. In the end, it will achieve little more than sport for me.’ He smiled to himself. ‘And I do so like a good chase … so long as I win in the end. And I always do!’
The Fat Man turned from the window. He slowly walked over to the safe and closed it, replacing his portrait over it. He then crossed the room to the drapes. At the snap of his fingers they drew back to reveal a large metal door. He reached a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out another key. He turned it over and over with his podgy fingers as if preparing to perform a card trick, then held it up, its faint glow reflected in his oh-so-dark eyes.
‘Time to put matters into play,’ he said. ‘Hail to the Designers.’
The door opened.