It was a cold winter evening, snow lightly falling on the pavement below the tall hospital. Inside, pacing the long corridor that fed into the maternity ward, was a large wolf-like figure. He wore a simple suit, but the bottom was ruffle and the tie was undone due to stress and heat. He walked barefoot, his feral feet padding softly on the floor as he worriedly walked back and forth along the clean white corridor. A doctor exited through the door, confronting the pacing wolf.

“Your child is born,” The man began, not looking the wolf's eyes. “But I'm afraid I have some bad news...”

“What is it?” The wolf asked. His voice was gruff, that of a solider.

“I'm afraid...you're wife didn't make it.” The doctor reluctantly said. The wolf froze on the spot, his face in shock. He loved his wife very much, and the doctor's assured him she would survive the birth of their child.

“No...” He began, bringing his hands to his face, starting to shake.

“I'm so sorry, I...” The doctor began, but the wolf lunged at him, pinning him to the wall. He snarled, as the doctor cried out, a clawed hand around his throat.

“You killed her!” he barked, baring his teeth. “You killed my wife!”

“S-security!” The doctor managed to say, his voice strangled. The officers quickly arrived, restraining the wolf until he had calmed down. When he did, he simply sat there for a good hour or more while the doctors tended to keeping the baby alive.

“Do you...want to see your child?” The doctor asked sometime later to the almost lifeless wolf.

“I...yes. I do.” He stood, entering the maternity ward. He strode calmly up to the crib, looking down at the tiny wolf infant below him. It was a male, he could see that much. The infant's eyes were a sharp green, and the wolf's hair was fluffy and white, just like his mother's. Just looking at the child brought tears to the soldier's eyes, and he looked away. The child reminded him too much of his new dead wife, his only love.

Days later, he took the child home, and swore to give it a good upbringing, making sure no harm came to his only son. He named him Zenithalta, after his grandfather, who he highly respected.
The child grew naturally, nurtured from a distance by his father, who felt getting too close would be a sign of weakness on his part, yet the child yearned for the comfort and trust of his only parent. At the age of 3, he was running to school with his father in tow one day and tripped. His knee scraped badly, and he cried for his father to comfort him. Instead, the wolf merely dismissed the injury, snapping at his son to get up and keep walking. As Zen grew older, his father watched his body build fairly thin and muscular, observing his son was excellent at sport as well as academic subjects such as History and English. When Zen reached the age of 10, his father got to work, making his son train daily.

On their first day of training, he made his son run on a treadmill. Zen happily obliged, keeping up a good pace for 30 minutes while his father left the room. After that time, he ran for another hour and quickly grew tired and dehydrated. He stopped the treadmill, and walked into the other room.

“Dad...” He said, gasping for breath, his clothes clinging to his body due to sweat. He leaned against the door frame, feeling tired. His father looked up from his study desk, eyes cold, his hand poised with a pen over a document.

“What is it?” he demanded, his voice harsh. He put his pen down firmly, standing.

“Can I..take a break? Or at least get some water?” Zen asked, his 10 year old body sluggish.

“No,” His father snapped, turning him around and shoving him back into the training room. Zen fell, too tired to even walk. He began to cry, upset at why his father didn't care that much for him and forced him to run on a treadmill. He felt so tired. “Come on, get up. You have training to do.”

“But, dad...” He began, sniffling. “I'm so tired and thirsty...”

“I said get up!” His father grabbed the boy's arm, dragging him to his feet. The boy struggled, pleading for water and rest. His father grew angry. He wanted his son to be strong, not weak. He placed the boy on the treadmill, and set it going at a high speed. The child tried to keep up with the speedy, his fur slick with sweat, gasping for water. After a few minutes, he tripped, being flung back on the treadmill and onto the hard wooden floor.

He felt too tired to get up. He heard his father shouting over him, telling him not to be weak, but he couldn't move. He felt his father kneel down beside him, a glimmer of hope shone in his chest, hoping his father would comfort him like he yearned him to do. Yet he just shoved him, and he rolled over, moaning, tears streaming down his face. He looked at his father, saw his angry face. The wolf stood, and flicked out a foot, the paw colliding with the child's stomach. Zen cried out in pain, but his father just turned and walked from the room, closing the door and locking it. After hours of rest, the boy stood up and tried to go to the other room, to get to food, finding the door was locked. He banged on the door.

“Dad! Why is the door locked?” He asked.

“You get no food tonight,” He heard his father shout back coldly. “You didn't do your training.”

“But...I'm hungry!” The child cried, feeling the tears come on again. He felt unloved. He fell to his knees, crying for food and water. “Daddy!”

The years rolled on. Zen was forced to work daily, he wasn't allowed to go to school, he father ordered him to just train all day on the treadmill, then on the weights. Whenever he cried or grew tired and stopped, he was hit, then the door was locked, and he was trapped in the room, the training utensils forever haunting over him as he cried out for food and water. He quickly grew thinner and his hatred for his father grew stronger.

He grew more and more rebellious as he got older. Whenever he was locked in the room, he would throw things around, or scrape at the walls. When he was 14, he simply used the weights to break the door down. When he did, his father strode up to him, beating him down, leaving Zen too weak to move. He his father was satisfactory he wasn't going to stand, he walked off, returning with ropes and quickly restraining the teenage wolf, and was left there, bound. He struggled against the bonds, couldn't break free. In the morning, he was awoken with a shake, given bread and water, and unbound. When he looked to the door, he found a new one in it's place. He didn't bother trying to break it down again, instead keeping more and more to himself, doing as his father commanded and when he didn't, he simply sat in the room.

Zen managed to survive for another year before he couldn't take it any more. For years he had observed the garden, as he could see it through the training room window. It was overgrown, and the fences were badly damaged. He slyly asked his father if he could sit out in the overgrown garden after training, and was told he was allowed to. He trained hard, not stopping so he could get outside, and when he did, he pretending to just sit there, knowing his father was watching. When he was sure he wasn't, he bolted, making for the broken fence. He heard his father roar in fury, and quickly run out the house after him. Although his father was old, in his early 50s, he was much faster and stronger than Zen.

“Zenithalta!” His father roared, chasing after his son. He was angry for him running away, but also fearful he would never see his son again. Zen looked back, his eyes full of fear of being beaten, and he leaped, attempting to get over the fence. His jeans caught just at the end, and he struggled, trying to break them free from the gate. He looked, to see his father towering over him from the other side of the gate, his mouth clenched in concealed fury.

“You can't escape.” He said, grabbed the wolf's ankle. “You will get back inside and train.”

“Why, dad?!” The wolf shouted at him, his years for rage building up. “Why do I need to train?”

“Because you're going into the army, just like I did, when you get to 17,” He said. “Then you can work under me and you will never be in danger.”

“I'm in danger being with you!” The wolf screamed at him, biting back tears. His father froze, shocked. Zen saw an opportunity and did the only thin he could think to do. He unzipped his jeans, removing them and quickly snapping his foot out of his father's grip, getting to his feet. He felt slightly embarrassed standing in a Shirt and boxers, but he didn't care. He turned and ran, away from his father, away from the torment, and into a new life.

Unfortunately, it wasn't turning out like he planned. He walked the streets, his cheeks red from embarrassment at walking around in just boxers and a shirt, barefoot. He had no money, for his father never gave him any, so he simply walked around to find jobs. Wherever he looked, no one would take him, even though he was athletically built. Night time soon arrived, and he sat in an alleyway, too nervous and paranoid to sleep in the streets.

He had almost dozed off involuntarily when he heard someone walking down the alleyway. He jerked his head up, and a sleazy woman was looking at him, a grin on her face.

“Hey there, good lookin'” She said, her voice clearly lined with signs of too much drink. She wore revealing stockings, a really short skirt with a vest and jacket that showed off a lot of cleavage. Zen stood, rather disturbed by this woman, and was aware he had hardly anything on himself.

“Uh...hello?” He said, fidgety. “I'm sorry, do I know you?”

“No,” The woman said, giggling. “But you're pretty good looking... say, I'll pay you 20 pounds if we...well, ya know...”

Zen stood there, looking at her blankly before catching onto what she wanted. His eyes widened, startled, and he stepped back.

“W-What?!” He exclaimed. “No!”

“Oh, come on...” She said, hitching up part of her skirt. “I don't bite. And there's money in it for you...”

“Keep away from me!” He cried out, turning and running from the alleyway. He ran for a while before he was sure she wasn't following, and rested against a wall. What did she think she was doing? That was horrible. He looked down the street, double checking if she was following, and noticed a bright neon sign that read 'hospital'. Looking down, he noticed his ankle was severely damaged. He was surprised, as he didn't notice it before. He decided to make his way there.

When he entered the walk-in centre, he was greeted with a foul aroma of booze, drugs and sterilization. He didn't hate hospitals, he just found it surprising. He walked to the reception, now realising he was limping and that everyone was staring at him, as he hardly wore anything.

“Uh...” he said to the receptionist, nervous. “I kinda, hurt my ankle?”

“Alright. Name?”

“Uh... Zenithalta Aliaphinto” He said, looking seriously at the nurse, who just smiled at him.

“Are you joking?” She asked, laughing a little.

“No...that's my name.” Admittedly, he was a little offended.

“Well, I don't know how to spell it. Anything easier I can check you in as?”

The wolf pondered the thought. “Zen.” he replied, satisfied with the name.

“Fancy.” She commented, smiling friendly at him as she typed it in the computer. “Date of birth?”

“7th December 1989.” It was starling how had retained this information. His father hardly told him anything. The woman looked at him after she had entered the data, and look down to his arm to see a dark bruise.

“Who did that to you, dear?” She asked, showing friendly concern for the wolf.

“Huh?” He looked down at the bruise, and quickly shifted his shirt so it hid it. “It's nothing.”

“Alright...” The receptionist said, not pressing further. “Take a seat over there and someone will call for you shortly.” As the wolf nodded and took a seat, she picked up the phone and dialled. The nurse that was sitting in a room nearby, took the call.
“Nurse Powell.” She answered in the customary fashion.

“Lydia.” The woman at the reception said, quietly enough so Zen couldn't hear from over at his seat. “There's a kid in here. Injured ankle, bruises, and he's hardly wearing anything. I think he's been abused.

“...Alright.” The nurse replied, brisk and to the point as she retrieved the notes from the computer. “There's nothing on here about him. How strange. I'll see to him right away.” She put the phone down after hearing a brief thank you, clearing her schedule and taking Zen first. She stood, making her way out of the door and stood at the entrance to the corridor, facing into the waiting room.

“Zen?” She called out, smiling when the wolf looked up at her, standing. She ran her eyes down him. Sure enough, there was a badly injured ankle and not much clothing. Concerned, she ushered him into the office, gesturing for him to take a seat. He obliged, smiling nervously at her.

“So, how can I help you?” She said, using the customary question that she asks every patient.

“I have a, uh, ankle injury.” He said, propping his foot on his knee, showing the bleeding wound. The nurse looked at it gently.

“How did this happen?” She asked, gently pushing the young wolf for information, hoping to get some reason why he's hardly wearing anything and has bruises and injuries.

“Oh, I just tripped.” He said, lying. As much as he loathed his father, he didn't want anyone to know what happened. It would show weakness. He didn't want people sympathising with him.

“I see...well, we'll have to leave you here overnight.” She said, typing a few notes. “It's very badly injured.” Zen nodded, standing. The nurse did also, gesturing him out of the door and through the long corridors. They passed the maternity ward, and Zen stopped. The placed seemed familiar to him. He was gently nudged, and they continued on. He was taken to the children's ward, where he was given a bed. He looked at the nurse, his eyes full of gratefulness for the warm bed. He was given food, and the wound was treated, then allowed to sleep.

He awoke next morning feeling refreshed and happier than he had ever been under his father's care. He looked down at his fur, disapproving of it's grey colour. He would have to wash soon. Shortly after he awoke, a woman in a grey suit walked in, with a notebook and a pen.

“Hello,” She said, her voice soothing. “I'm Sophie. I'm here to ask you a few questions.”

“You're a social worker aren't you?” He asked. It was clear she was, after he, he was more than aware he came in looking a bit worse for ware, and revealing. He was sure the receptionist notified the nurse of his bruises, so there was no doubt she was one.

“You're pretty smart for your age.” She said, smirking and then grinning friendly, flipping a few pages. “So, what's your name?”

“Don't you already know? It's Zen,” He said, crossing his arms. “I won't bother giving my full name. No one can pronounce it, and everyone just calls me Zen.”

“Oh, okay. Do you have any parents?” She hoped he would, then he would have a home to go to. Yet, the bruises said that he was beaten rather than loved.

“Of co-” he hesitated. He didn't want to go back to his father. “No. I don't.”

“You were about to say you did.”

“No! I...” He trailed off, not sure how to evade it now.

“So, who are your parents?” She knew that he did have some. “If you don't want to go back to them, you don't have to. You can get foster parents, or can stay in a care home.”

“Foster parents?” He was afraid. What if they beat him, just like his father did? “I don't want to go to any foster parents.”

“That's okay, that's okay...” She said, soothing him. “Look, I know you must feel unloved, like no one cares for you. But there will be someone out there who does...” She trailed off, realising the young wolf was sobbing into his hands. She placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. He looked at her, then flung himself at the woman, embracing her, yearning for the comfort. He held himself back no longer and cried into the woman's shoulder, the years of pain pouring out of him I the form of tears. She obliged to his comfort, returning the embrace and gently rubbing his back. As she did so, she felt a long strange grove in his back.

“What's this grove on your back?” She asked, worried.

“W...” He tried to say, and sniffed. “What grove?”

“Turn around.” She said, and he did, shifting in the bed. She undid the straps on the back of his hospital gown and gasped. Running down his back was a long scar, painful looking at it went from the wolf's right should blade down to his left thigh.

“You never knew you had this?” She said, running a finger down it. The wolf didn't flinch, when meant it wasn't recent.

“No...” he replied, suddenly concerned.

“Well, let's no dwell on it,” She said, tying it back up, allowing the wolf to turn around and lean back on his bed again. “So, tell me who your parents are.” She put the notebook in her hands again.

“Well... I don't have a mother. My father said she died when I was born...” He said, thinking. “My father, well... I don't know the address, or his name.”

“Could you point out the house if we drove by it?”

“Y-yes. Why?” He asked, panicking. “You're not going to take me back there, are you?”

“No, no, no...” She said, calming him down. “It's just to ask him questions...so...” She began, now placing her notebook down. “Where did you get those bruises?”

“I...” he began, and found no way out of telling the woman. “My father...”

“Did he...hit you?” She asked. She wondered why a father would do such a thing to an innocent child such as him. But sure enough, the young wolf slowly nodded, and she shook her head in pity. “What did he do?”

“He...” He pondered, trying to collect his thoughts. “When I was younger, he used to make me train, on this treadmill...if I didn't, he would beat me and lock me in the training room, with no food or anything.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry...” She began, bringing a hand out to comfort him. He didn't protest, and instead continued.

“He kept doing it. When I was 14, I broke the door down, and he beat me and tied me up for the night,” He paused, keeping his voice steady. “Then, yesterday, I couldn't take it anymore. I trained, went out into the garden and made a break for it.”

“Then how come you weren't wearing any jeans, or trousers?” She asked, puzzled.

“The jeans got caught on the fence. My father was there, he tried to drag me back but I screamed at him, and managed to break free by taking my jeans off. Then I ran...” He trailed off, as he thought the rest was self explanatory. He looked away from the woman, feeling nervous.

“Oh my...that's horrible.” She said, writing down something in her notebook. “Right. I'll find you a care home as soon as possible. I'll be back in a few days.” He ruffled his head lightly, and he smiled sheepishly, watching as she walked away.

A few days later, she came back, informing him there was a care home nearby he could stay in. He was happy for it and was quickly sent on his way from the hospital with a bandaged ankle. He got in the car with the woman and they arrived out the front of a well kept, large house. Zen was nervous, but walked with the social worker to the door. They were greeted by a short, smiling woman with blond hair.

“Ah! You must be Zen,” She beamed at the young wolf. “Come in, come in, meet everyone.” He entered the house, being ushered into the large living room where people were gathered, some talking, some playing games and some watching. All of them were children with a few adults walking in and out. As soon as he entered the room, games were paused and each head turned to look at him. He looked away shyly, feeling his face heat up. He didn't like being put on the spot, especially with the visible bruises in his arms.

“Everyone,” The stout woman announced to the group. “This is Zen. He'll be staying with us. Say hello.”

There was a murmur of greeting, and the majority turned back to what they were doing. A few continued looking in curiosity, and walked over to greet him.

“Hi,” One of the girls said, her hair bright read. “I'm Olivia.”

“Oh, uh...hey.” Zen replied, shy of these new strangers. He conversed with a few other people, Paul, Tyson and Jake. He greeted each in turn before being directed upstairs, to his room. When he entered the door, he was greeted with another person, supposedly his room mate. He stood about a high as Zen, had short black hair and a fairly thin body, with Jeans and a plain shirt.

“Oh, hey.” He said, his voice friendly. “I'm Adam. Looks like you'll be staying in this room, right?”

“Yeah, looks like it.” Zen said, grinning.

Over the next few months Zen took part in various activities and get to know more of the people he lived with. He felt like he had a family. It was only a few months after that that things took a turn for the worst.

Days prior, he had had an argument with Tyson over one of Zen's most prized possessions, a clear blue sapphire sphere, the size of a postage stamp, that his father claimed his mother had bought him before he was born, to give to him when he was a young age. When he was 4, his father had given it to him and he always kept it with him, locked in a thin gold necklace around his neck. Tyson had taken it, intending to sell it for money but Zen had caught him just before he did, and they got into an argument.

In the spring, Zen was sitting in his room, messing around on Adam's laptop. He had grown, as he turned 16 a few months back. On that day, Tyson burst into the room, looking at Zen coldly.

“I need that laptop to look something up.” He demanded, holding out a hand for it.

“Well, I can't just give it you,” Zen replied calmly, looking at Tyson. “It doesn't belong to me. You'll have to ask Adam.”

“He's out with his new foster parents,” Tyson muttered angrily. “And I need to look something up. So give it here.”

“You'll have to wait till Adam comes back then, it's not my right to just hand it out without his permission,” He replied, typing some more on the laptop. He had recently enrolled in a school and was writing out an English essay. “Besides, I'm using it for an English essay.”

Tyson bared his teeth, walking up to Zen and grabbing him by the collar of his T-Shirt. “When I tell you to do something, you do it.” He growled at him. He was taller than Zen was, and the young wolf gulped timidly.

“I can't. It doesn't belong to me...” He said, and realised he has said the wrong thing. Tyson shoved him forwards and he tripped, landing onto his bed and knocking he head on the wall. He gasped in pain, and Tyson bore down on him, landing blow after blow onto the wolf's body. Zen cried out in pain and fear, and moments later Katie, one of the carers in the care home, managed to drag Tyson off of him. The young wolf lay curled up on the bed, blood trickling down his face. A few others tended to his wounds, and as soon as possible kicked Tyson out of the care home, though it took a few weeks and all the while Zen was kept under constant watch by his friends, protective of the vulnerable wolf.

He recovered quickly, his attitude returning to normal a few weeks after Tyson had left. 2 years passed and he had gained good GCSEs and gotten As in his English, History and Law A levels. He opted to join the army, not remembering what his father had wanted him to do as he saw it a good opportunity. His friend decided against it, saying he was better off going to university with the grades he had, but he assured them he would when he had some a bit of training in the army and seen how it went.

He left the care home and train for a few years in the army, becoming proficient in close combat and handguns. When his training was almost over, he was asked to see the main general. As he entered the door, the man turned round, asking him to take a seat. Zen had grown athletic, with a thin frame and broad-ish shoulders. He cleaned his fur daily, so it was delicately soft to the touch.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked, taking a seat as ordered.

“Yes, Aliaphinto,” The general was the only one who managed to pronounce his surname properly. Everyone else all him 'Al' or 'Zen'. “I have been informed that you've been doing well in your training. So well that someone has requested for you to join their special ops unit. Specifically you.”

“What's the unit called, sir?” He felt exhilarated with the news. A special ops unit. Well paying job and quite an adventure.

“Wolf Unit,” He summarised. “A small group of people designed for stealth and working as a group. They've asked specifically for you.”

“Wow...” He began. This was a once in a life time opportunity. “Can I go, sir?”

The general smiled. “I know you'd say that, so I already had the paperwork signed. They arrive in the hour.”

“Thank you, sir.” He said, standing, saluting respectively. The general nodded, gesturing for him to leave, and Zen did so.

Sure enough, a vehicle arrived for Zen in the hour. He quickly got I the car and was taken to building, very modern looking. He walked inside and was immediately greeted by a man.

“You must be Zen,” He said, gesturing to the elevator. “The Boss wants to see you. Just take the elevator to the 5th floor.” The wolf nodded, taking the elevator up. He entered the room, saluting to the guards outside, and they allowed him to pass into another room. There was a small oak desk, and standing with his back to him was a tall Wolf, with broad shoulders. He turned to greet Zen, and the wolf was greeted with a shock.

“Hello son.” The wolf said, his face expressionless. “It's good to see you again.”

Zen stood, shocked. His father was back. He tried to keep calm but his fear bottle over, and he stepped back, his face in terror. He quickly turned to leave and was stopped by the guards.

“Take a seat, Zenithalta,” His father said, gesturing for him to take the wooden seat opposite him. “I didn't invite you here to torment you.” The young wolf gulped, taking a seat. He was afraid of his father, wondering if he would do what he did again, but he was also angry at him for what he did.

“What do you want, sir?” He decided it would be best to be polite and not anger him. His father looked him up and down, surveying his son's body.

“You've trained well,” He commented, and Zen looked away shyly. “I invited you here to talk to you, see how my son has been getting on since he ran away from home.”

The sentence hit Zen with a feeling of guilt and anger as he remember why he ran. “Yeah, I joined the army, as you no doubt already know,” He glanced at his father. “I was asked to join some special unit. I presume you run it.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, placing a document on the desk. “Go meet the rest of the group. They'll brief you on your mission.” With a gesture, he turned away from his son. Zen was all to happy to leave, nervous around the father who used to beat him for crying. When he stepped out of the elevator, he breathed heavily. Keeping a calm exterior, he went to meet the rest of the group. He greeted them each in turn. Mouse, the recon, Ivy, the assault, and Phantom, the explosives expert. He was named Zen, the stealth. He was fairly satisfied with the name and was introduced to his quarters and given food. When he was alone at the night time, he curled up on his bed, and burst into tears. Seeing his father brought back too many memories. He felt 14 years old again.

Over the next four years he proceeded about the missions he was given, acquiring a fairly good salary. Every weekend, he was allowed outside to spend it doing what he liked, yet in the weekdays he was ordered to stay indoors and train with the rest of the group. In addition to his army training, he was given a run down of many forms of close combat with a knife, a pistol, and other weapons as well as his fists. According to his team mates, he was deemed the best in terms of combat of all of them. Towards the end of the final year, he noticed he was not being put in missions as often as he would have liked. He requested a audience with his father.

Entering the room, he placed his arms of the back of the chair, looking at his father's back as he seemed to always be turning away from him.

“How come I'm being put out of so many missions?” He demanded of his father, now not bothering with the politeness and subtleties. His father turned, his eyes cold from the years of drinking and fretting over his only son who ran away from him.

“I've decided you're not ready. You should keep training.” He looked at his son, saw the anger and fear in his eyes.

“More training?” He demanded. “I've trained for 4 years.” He growled, leaning up off the chair. “This is just like when I was 14 years old. Constant training.”

“It's for you own good!” He roared, slamming his hand down on the desk in frustration, his eyes pleading. “I don't want to see you hurt, or dead, like your mother.”

“So that's why you trapped me in that training room? After I cried and pleaded with you to let me out?” There were tears in the wolf's eyes as he looked at his father in anger. “What kind of father does that?”

“It was for your protection!”

“You have no idea what protection is!” Zen screamed, the tears streaming down his face. “I sat for hours on end thinking my father didn't love me, because he locked me in a room with no food!”

He turned, walking to the door. The guards went to stop him but he shoved them aside. He looked back at his father, the fur on his face slick with tears.

“As far as I'm concerned, I have no father.” And on that word, he walked out, past his pleading team members, past the guards, and out of the building, never to return. He didn't want to face his father again.

He decided to set up his own freelance agency, but he had no office, and no employees. It was just him, doing whatever job he felt like doing. From his job in Wolf Unit, he had acquired enough money to live for life, and didn't yearn for the work that the army offered, being sent to the battlefield for years on end. Instead, he decided it would be better to just take odd jobs, they could simply last a few weeks. He bought a small flat, hardly a chunk in his budget but he found it cosy. One day, he received a phone call. He quickly answered.

“Hello?”

“Son...” he heard his father. He sounded very much drunk. “Please...come back to me.”

“Why should I?” Zen asked over the phone, keeping himself calm. “You beat me when I was younger, why should I go there and let you beat me again?”

“Because,” His father replied, and paused. Zen could hear brief sobs, and he felt pity for his father. “I miss my son.”

Zen pondered, not sure whether to or not. “Alright. I'll be right over.” Zen put the phone down, grabbing his knife and going outside to his car. Had he made the right choice? He drove over to his father's house, knocked on the door. His father answered, beer in hand.

“Zenithalta,” He said, arms out for an embrace, beer in hand. “Please, give your old man a hug.”

Zen sighed, and obliged. He embraced his father, feeling comfortable in his arms. The his father's grip grew tight, Zen struggled, but couldn't break free and his father flung round, sending the wolf flying across the floor. His father locked the front door, and Zen noticed something on the stand. A gun.

“Father...” Zen began, getting to his feet. “What are you doing?” He watched as his father picked up the gun, pointing it at his only sun. His face was delirious, his eyes wild.

“If I can't have my son...” He slurred, staggering forward. “No one can.” He fired the gun. Zen leaped out of the way, just in time. He hid behind the couch.

“This isn't the way, father!” He exclaimed, trying to get out of his father's gaze, so he could disarm him. His father staggered around the living room, trying to find his son so he could end his life. Eventually, Zen made his way round, and grabbed his father from behind. They both struggled, his father brought his gun hand back. There was a shot fired. Zen cried out, a bullet wound in his shoulder. He felt his arms go weak, his body sluggish from loss of blood. His father whirled round, knocking his son to the floor. Zen looked up at his father.

“Why...?” He asked, blood seeping from his left shoulder. His father stood over him, gun poised, then his eyes glazed. He crumpled by his son.

“What have I done...?” He said, tears down his face. Zen saw his opportunity. His father was far too dangerous, due to him just trying to kill his own son, so the wolf saw only one solution. Grabbing his knife from his pocket, he swung his hand up, and the combat knife slid cleanly into the father's chest. The wolf's eyes widened, looking down at his son.

“I'm sorry father,” Zen said, tears streaming down his face, as he heard sirens from outside. Someone must have heard gunfire and called the police, and probably an ambulance. “I'm so sorry...” He blinked away tears, watching as his father fell with a thud to the floor, the knife protruding from his chest. He felt his 15 year old self coming back to him, and he burst into a sob as the paramedics entered the room.

Days later he was back on his feet, pushing the heart-breaking experience out of his mind. His father was dead, he had to accept it, but it was only because he tried to kill him. In a way, he felt his father deserved it, but death was far too far, and now Zen had his father's death on his conscience. By his own hands. He took a deep breath, pushing the matter from mind, and answered the phone.

“This is Zen, freelancer.”