"Zach Sun."

The impatient tap of Mr. Thompson's fingers on his mahogany desk reminded Zach of Ace's metronome. Tap, tap, tap...

"Zachary."

The office had a rather small window, and the dull grey walls merely added to the prison-like effect. Throw in an angry bodyguard and put him in cliché orange overalls and there – he's a prisoner.

"Mr. Sun."