[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=ed1c24][center][img]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Chapter%20Two%3A%20Retribution&name=SATAM___.ttf&size=50&style_color=ed1c24[/img][hr][img]https://images.gr-assets.com/hostedimages/1459623139ra/18636483.gif[/img][/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1][hr][center][h3]
[b][i]Date:[/i][/b] Sunday May 21th, 2017[/h3][/center][center][hr] [@Sigil] [@Morose] [@Dragoknighte] [@Scallop] [@Nallore][/center][hr][hr]

	[b][i][color=ed1c24]Justice Asylum:[/color][/i][/b] - Marc heard the ongoing through the ear piece as he was listening to Cecily. He knew that tone and looked over towards Riley. This was not going to be good. [color=82ca9d]"At this rate the hospital or the morgue,"[/color] he said before tossing the phone to Riley as he sprang from his chair. What in the hell was Felix thinking? He was pushing a woman in an asylum? Maybe he should have been the one there. Sprinting towards the Asylum he ran inside, pulling his gun and his badge. 

	[color=82ca9d]"Marc Tinder, FBI. Open the damn door,"[/color] he said to the nurse at the desk. 

	"You think you can just..." the woman started but Marc wasn't playing. This was life and death. Pointing his side arm at her face he narrowed his eyes. 

	[color=82ca9d]"Open the fucking door!"[/color] he spat. Marc hardly every cursed. He was reserved, kind, a gentleman. Cursing was usually something that never left his lips but every so often, it slipped. Trembling the woman hit the button and the door clicked at the sound of the "beep" - He didn't even look back as he ran through it and took the stairs, bounding up them as quickly as he could but could he get there in time?

	A simple step back and a knife was nothing that was going to deter Cynthia. She had been bent on causing major damage for maximum splattering of "paint" - her favorite paint, blood. It was her true medium and she wanted it now. A lot of it. The step back caused her finger nails to miss but she was still able to take Felix down to the floor. The knife being knocked out of his hand and landing on the ground, sliding under one of the book shelves. The crayon.... It hit its mark. Driving it into his eye socket. The only good thing was that it was a dull crayon, small and thin. Being held in her fist the way it was, like a knife, it could only go so deep. Damage was being done though, that crayon went halfway through Felix's right eye before anything else could be done. 

	The orderlies were not watching and only turned when they heard the crash but the tumble had knocked over the desk Cynthia had been drawing on and the door was blocked. They kept shouldering it but it wasn't moving. Marc came out of the stair well, looking around as he spotted the men trying to get in and darted over to them. Cynthia was cackling, trying to push the crayon even further in but it wasn't working. Pulling it out she went to gouge his other eye but Marc was on top of things. 

	A firing of his side arm took out the glass window looking into the room and he jumped through, side tackling Cynthia and pinning her to the ground. Coming in behind him were the orderlies as one pushed the mess out of the way of the door so it could open and the other rushing over to Felix who's eye was torn and ripped, half hanging out of the socket. 

	"We need back up! Someone call 911!" the orderly over Felix yelled. 

	Cynthia just lay there, her face in the ground as Marc held her there. A pouty smile on her lips as she looked at her work. "Aww, I wasn't finished..." she said in a voice of child like innocence. 

	[b][i][color=ed1c24]Cab:[/color][/i][/b] - Zoie chuckled and shook Mali's hand. "Ain't nothin' to be sorry about. Juniper throws most people off," she said in a light hearted voice. "Don't cha be frettin' none though. She just playful is all." Relic rolled his eyes as he adjusted his glasses. 

	"Yeah, real damn playful sis..."

	"Well, let's be gettin' inside. Dinner almost done. Hope yous liked fried chicken and collard greens," she said before turning and walking into the house. The house was old and inside it looked like one might have imagined some plantation home would have during the Civil War. A lazy looking bassethound was sleeping by the fire place. He lifted his head just long enough to let out a very long yawn before licking his lips and settling back down. 

	"That's Colonel, laziest assed coon hound this side of the Mississippi," she laughed as she walked through the sitting area and into the open kitchen towards the back of the house. "Makes yerself at home, can's I get ya anything to drink? I gots spirits, some coke, sweet tea, what be to yer likin'?" she asked as she pulled out a few glasses from one of the cabinets. 

	Relic set his bag down next to the couch and shrugged off his hoodie, resting it over it. "Tea," he said.

	"Ain't askin' ya. Yous know where shit is. Askin' yer guest," she scolded him and Relic rolled his eyes again before entering the kitchen to fix himself something to drink.