✿✿ Movie Scene : Hospital ✿✿

Zenith's condition was monitored closely for the next few weeks.

After a week, Zenith was more coherent but he still kept on drifting out of consciousness. The doctors were puzzled at this development, for his body heat was increasing. In fact, it was getting to be normal.

Was there something wrong internally?

Worse, was his mental capacity affected?

Zenith had not gone into cardiac arrest, thus the doctors had never considered the possibility of any brain damage. His heart hadn't stopped, so the brain was functioning despite the hypothermia. If he had suffered a heart attack, then his brain would have been deprived of oxygen.

That would have been a serious issue, more so since his body temperature had been so low.

Thus, during treatment, focus had been entirely on treating the hypothermia. Nothing else was looked at or thought of.

However, none of them could deny the possibility of something else now, since Zenith didn't seem to be waking up. He wasn't in a coma but he was drifting in and out of consciousness too much.

Thus, after intense discussion, the doctors felt that it was better for Zenith to undergo an MRI (magnetic resonance imaging). The MRI was known to be a good choice in detecting axonal injury,* small areas of contusion (bruise), and subtle neuronal damage.#

The doctors had not considered the MRI before since Zenith had not suffered any head injury. His head as 'off limits' during the punishment for this exact reason, but this rather state of unconsciousness was not normal.

Perhaps the torturers had not followed orders? Or were they careless? After all, they had caused Zenith to be in this state despite being told to merely make him suffer - not seriously injure him.

However, one particular discovery prior to the MRI testing made all of the doctor's heart skip a beat.

As per normal procedure, they would examine the head. Soft, gentle hands were touching and feeling the shape of Zenith's head when a slight bump could be felt. The moment that bump was felt, all manner of work stopped.

It looked like Zenith had indeed had suffered a head injury.

And they had missed it.

All the doctors looked at each other in fear and quickly sent Zenith for testing.

No one dared to inform the High Table as yet. The doctors were in great fear of their life, so they kept the need for the test quiet. They wanted the results first before informing the High Table. After all, if it was all in the clear, then they would be safe.

If it wasn't ...

The doctors didn't dare think of that yet. For now, the more urgent thing was to get the kid out for testing.

✿✿

The unconscious Zenith was left alone on the stretcher as everyone was busy getting the treatment room ready. Due to the fact that it was an unexpected treatment, not to mention one that they wanted to keep hidden, nothing was ready yet.

The doctors did everything themselves, not daring to trust anyone else to set up the equipment. Those people could tell the High Table before they had the results ready. Nothing must go wrong.

Of course, when you are too engrossed with worry and being busy with work, no one would notice that the stretcher that held the patient ... was now empty.

By the time they realised, it was too late.

The doctors, looked at each other and came to a unanimous decision.

The Head Doctor cleared his throat, smoothened his white coat and said, "I will go first. We can't go out together for that would be too conspicuous."

"Why should it be you first?" one doctor demanded, "You're the Head. So you should be the last."

The Head Doctor looked at him in disdain, "This is not a sinking ship and I am not a captain. So that thought is faulty."

"I don't care whether the analogy is apt or not," another doctor snorted, "You just want to be the first out as that is the one with the least danger. I refuse."

"Well then, who should it be? You?" scoffed the Head Doctor, "You're such a lowly one amongst us that the guards would certainly be suspicious. Why would you go out so early?"

"Why would the guards be suspicious?" the first doctor commented, "He's like a lackey, as I. It's more suspicious if the Head went out first."

And so, the arguments went from one doctor to another, each not wanting to give in. The argument got louder and louder, attracting more attention.

Meanwhile, just a few metres away and unnoticed by anyone, the door to an utility closet was slowly closing.

Inside, Zenith took his hand off the mouth of the doctor he had waylaid in the corridor and quickly twisted his neck. Hearing the satisfying crack of the bone, Zenith started undressing the doctor, leaving him only in his underwear.

Zenith took off the hospital gown that he was wearing, revealing a naked back that was riddled with whip lashes. He quickly donned the now deceased doctor's clothes. Picking up the stethoscope that had dropped on the floor, he flung it around his neck.

Thinking a while, he took the glasses that the doctor had on and popped out the lenses. Rummaging through the utility closet, he got some saline solution and used the liquid to wet his hair. He then rubbed his hair vigorously, making it look very messy, put on the glasses and walked out the door.

The only problem was, he didn't have any shoes. Thus, he wore the pants slightly lower to cover his bare feet and hoped no one was really paying any attention.

As he walked out into the corridor, he quickly mixed with the people around. No one bothered with the rather scruffy but young-looking doctor in a white coat that was walking between them. His unshaven face, messy hair, dark-rimmed glasses and stethoscope around the neck was the typical look of any of the many people around that had been working almost non-stop for the past week.

Everyone was just too tired to really pay any attention.

The guards weren't that attentive either. After all, this was not a prison but a hospital ward. An exclusive hospital ward but a hospital nonetheless. They weren't there to prevent any prison escape but rather, to make sure that everything was orderly.

Zenith laughed to himself as he thought of the doctors who were probably still arguing in the treatment room. They had been so scared about his disappearance that they never considered just walking out. Typical pampered overpaid greedy doctors, who were now scared sh*tless for losing him.

Not that he cared.

His apathy towards the team that saved his life was quite normal for him. Even killing the doctor that he took the outfit from didn't elicit any emotions from him. All sorts of emotions had died the day his siblings died.

The only thing that sustained him was his hatred for his father.

Who he now found out was unlikely to be the true culprit.

Didn't mean his hatred was any less, or that he no longer hated his father. One couldn't suddenly switch of years of such intense feeling just because the truth was discovered. His hatred towards the organisation and the High Table, however, intensified.

Right now, the first thing he had to do was escape.

To minimise the possibility and danger of anyone recognising him, Zenith didn't look up and always kept his face at an angle. Despite the seemingly vague expression on his face, his mind was sharp and he was well aware of what was happening around him.

He took one last look at the room before he walked out the door.

To freedom.

Well, sort of but still, it felt great.

Knocking himself on the head when no one was looking had been worth it. The bump was well worth the sacrifice for fooling the stupid doctors. He would smash his head on the wall just minutes before the doctors came for their normal check-up. This made his unconscious state more believable.

It certainly took them time to discover the bump that formed due to him hitting the same spot over and over. He probably did have some sort of concussion or brain damage somewhere. He figured that for him to actually think of escaping the place that he was born in, grew up in and had only known of ... meant that he wasn't right in the head.

Zenith turned to look back at the place that he spent all of his life in. Without another word, he took out the white coat, threw it into the trash and dissapeared into the distance.

It had been so simple.

What a 'great' escape this was.

✿✿ ✿✿

In another part of town, one could see a lone man gripping some papers in anger.

John could not believe what he had just read.

His face was contorted, full of anger as he thought of what the High Table had done and what they wanted to do.

'Zenith' had been their greatest creation, which spurned a more ambitious project which actually resulted in utter failure.

Since Zenith had been so successful, the High Table was euphoric and began thinking of creating more such assassins and had tried with various other 'subjects'. However, none of them had resulted in anything close to Zenith.

Naming him as such was like a prophecy.

'Zenith', as a noun, meant the time at which something is most powerful or successful. It just so turned out that Zenith was the most powerful elite assassin that they had trained. Only problem was, he was rebellious.

When John read that part, he actually laughed.

Serves the High Table right.

They wanted a mindless killing machine that obeyed them without question.

Well, they got the mindless killing machine. Problem was, they now had two.

John crushed the documents in his hands. The High Table had much more to pay for now.