✿ Note : Movie Scene (written like a book. haha) ✿

It was a small room. A dark room. There were no windows and only one lamp was above the ceiling, barely illuminating the room. A boy was sitting on a chair, his head bent down. His hands were tied together behind the back of the chair while his legs were closed and tied together to the legs of the chair.

He was unclothed and his upper body was full of whip marks. Some looked fresh, some were obviously old from the scabs that had formed over it. The figure wasn't moving and just sat there. One might have thought he was dead, if it wasn't for the fact that the chest was barely moving, indicating his shallow breathing.

The door creaked open and footsteps were heard entering.

Jack stood there, looking at the immovable figure in front of him. He knew very well that the boy was awake but merely ignoring him. No matter what had been done to him, he hadn't uttered a single word. Not even a shout. All he had was a single smirk as he took in every single slash of the whip.

They didn't go all the way, of course. Only the normal whip had been used and not the barbed one. They wanted to punish him, not cripple him.

Problem was, the boy knew that very well. That's why he just sat there with his smirk. It aggravated the torturers, who wanted nothing better than to increase the punishment meted out. Just to get wipe that smirk out of the way.

Jack inclined his head towards the Zenith.

The goons beside him nodded and poured a pail of salt water onto the boy.

Zenith's lips were already blue from the cold and his body was shivering. He had been concentrating on other things and using the least amount of energy so that he wouldn't be too caught up in the cold that was seeping into his bones.

As the cold water hit him, his teeth started to chatter so he clenched on them, refusing to show any sign of weakness. However, he still couldn't stop the small hiss that escaped his lips when the salt water entered his wounds. It felt like his body was being pierced by a thousand needles. No, not needles. Sliced like paper cuts.

Stinging pain.

Zenith slowly brought his head up, his eyes full of hatred as he glared at his tormentor. His 'Mentor', Jack. The one that had been in charge of him since he was young. The one that trained him and told him all about his 'father'.

The one that made him watch as all of his siblings were killed right in front of him.

He had been tied to a chair just like this one, and his throat had gotten sore from all the screaming he had done. As each child lay dying, they were forced to face Zenith and then, the killer would whisper in their ear why Zenith was alive and why they were killed.

Each and every single one of them died while feeling anger and dissatisfaction, unfairness and blame reflected in their eyes as they stared at Zenith until the life left them. None of them wanted to die. None of them could accept the reason for their death.

Each of them was unhappy that Zenith was the Chosen One.

Each glare hit Zenith's soul and every time, a part of him died.

His innocence, gone.

Zenith might hate his father, but he hated Jack even more. And he hated the High Table the most.

Jack looked at Zenith's cold expression and he involuntarily shuddered.

The boy in front of him was getting out of control. Jack cursed the higher-ups for their orders about the other kids. Not about their elimination, but for making Zenith be a part of it.

The management had wanted to assert their dominance and control over Zenith. They had wanted Zenith, who was only 9 at the time, to be so traumatised that he would latch onto Jack. Then, Jack would have control over the boy and thus, so would the management.

Jack had opposed the plan but was shut down. He was only a 'soldier' and had to obey orders.

Just like the mistake they made by underestimating John Wick when he wanted to be released from the organisation (the High Table), they made a mistake in thinking they could break John's son.

Out of all the offsprings that they had created, Jack saw that Zenith had the best potential and the one that mirrored John's personality the most. That was why he opposed the plan. Now, as he looked at the cold boy in front of him, he knew that what he feared the most had come true.

The boy was skilled. The boy was smart.

The boy was a cold, unfeeling killing machine who wouldn't listen to orders that he didn't agree with.

At least John listened and followed the Code of the High Table - until Santiago double-crossed him. So John ignored the Code and made that hit at the Continental. The sanctuary, where no one was allowed to harm another (let alone kill).

Now John Wick had a $14 million bounty on him. Countless of assassins after him. Despite that, John Wick had managed to kill every single assassin after him and created huge problem for the High Table.

Just when things were going to settle down, just when John Wick was willing to step down so long as his request was met ... the High Table did the stupid thing of trying to kill John. Too bad his body was never found and now, every single person at the High Table - and of course, Winston who orchestrated it all ... are scared shitless.

So that is why they decided to use Zenith.

To get to John.

Again, Jack felt that was stupid. Either give him what he wants, or kill him. Not use his own son that he never knew about to force him to work for them again. What are they thinking?! They can't even control Zenith, his son. What makes them think they can control the father?

Jack shook his head, clearing it from all these thoughts which caused him nothing but endless grief. The High Table thought too highly of themselves. Their ego was smashed and they are trying very hard to assert their dominance once again over the entire elite assassin community.

"Are we done yet?" Zenith asked, his speech slurred. He cursed himself for that but there was no helping it. It had been nearly a week now and he was already showing signs of hypothermia.

They wanted to break him so they kept on the torture. Though they thought they weren't being too harsh, they forgot that the human body still had limits. Zenith had the willpower but sooner or later, his body will succumb.

He wondered idly when these fools would realise that his body temperature was dangerously low. That if this was to go on, he'd die.

Not that he cared, really. Death would be a welcome release.

Even though a part of him wanted to kill his father with his own hands, he wasn't going to be heartbroken if he couldn't. If it meant he could escape this Hell Hole, he'd take it. Even if escaping meant Death.

Jack had originally wanted to ask if Zenith would now listen to orders, but the moment Zenith asked his question, Jack stood up straight.

He quickly looked at Zenith properly and his breath got stuck in his throat. How did he miss this?! He noted, for the first time, Zenith's blue lips. Jack quickly studied the rest of Zenith's body and found that his skin was pale.

Jack cursed under his breath.

Why didn't the torturers notice this? Perhaps putting him in a dark room wasn't such a good idea after all. Still, those torturers were supposed to take good care of Zenith and ensure that his health wasn't affected too badly. Going into hypothermia was obviously not in the cards.

Jack turned to the goons beside him, barked an order to release Zenith and stomped out.

He had some torturers to torture.