Michelle absorbed the sweet scent of her delectable, homemade, chocolate chip pancakes as they cooked on the griddle in her contemporary kitchen. Upon hearing the coffee maker beep signaling that the Maxwell House coffee was ready, her husband walked up behind her, handing her a mug before wrapping his strong, chestnut brown arms around her narrow waist.

"Use this mug." He whispered before pushing aside her Havana twists and bringing his lips to her lengthy neck.

Michelle looked down at the pristine, white coffee cup that held an image of a powder blue baby footprint. Her giddy, lighthearted demeanor instantly became distorted as soon as her eyes traveled along the make of the mug, causing her to break away from her husbands embrace.

"Where did you get this?" The young woman demanded.

"What do you mean? I got it from work...is there a problem?"

"Lincoln, don't start with this...please." Michelle hissed as she slammed the fragile mug down onto the hard island bar. "Not now."

"Be careful or you'll break it." Lincoln warned as he picked up the mug, studying it for any possible damage. His lengthy, dark brown dreadlocks slammed against the back of his light gray collared shirt, that concealed his toned back, as he quickly returned his attention back to his wife.

"You got it from work?" Michelle questioned.

"Yeah, from work. Just like I always do." Lincoln explained. "They're gifts that we give out to our patients when their baby is finally born."

"Well, stop bringing those kinds gifts around here. Leave it for them, for the patients, for the actual parents." She grabbed the spatula and lifted the golden brown pancakes onto the china plate in her opposite hand.

"We had some extras and I figured I'd bring one home so that we could have one here. I thought that maybe you'd like it, I thought that it might make you-."

"Make me what?" Michelle interrupted. "Change my mind? You thought that a mug would suddenly make me want to have a baby? Really?"

"No, I thought that it'd spark the conversation...and I was right." Her husband smiled widely showing off his impeccably white teeth. The teeth that almost always made Michelle sink to her knees, at the sight alone.

"Listen, it's almost 7:30, you have to be to work, soon. Your breakfast is getting cold." Michelle calmly stated as she handed Lincoln a plate of pancakes. "And I don't want to fight about this. It's too early in the morning."

"...Okay." Lincoln relented as he doused his flapjacks in maple syrup.

"Okay." Michelle agreed before giving her spouse a gentle peck on the lips.

"You're already dressed at this hour?" Her husband inquired as he sliced through his breakfast with a fork. "Where are you off to this morning?"

"The DA's office." Michelle admitted. "I have a few things I want to go over with the lawyer that's working on my mom's case. I think they talked to the police and might have some new leads on who killed her."

It had been a decade since the horrendous event occurred, but no matter how much time went on, her mother's homicide remained a fresh wound that sliced through her heart and shortened her breath, everytime she recalled it. Even though the thoughts never failed to sadden her, today was especially difficult, because it had been ten years to date since her mother was snatched from her.

"Oh, shit." Lincoln muttered as he wiped his mouth with a white, clothe napkin before hugging his spaced out wife. "I'm sorry, baby. How could I forget? Are you sure you want to go see the lawyer today? You don't have to. I mean, are you okay?" He broke their loving embrace and cupped her cheeks as he continued to speak. "I can stay home today, I can be here, with you."

"No, no, that's not necessary." Michelle argued.

"Yes, it is. It's necessary for me to be with my wife when she's hurting."

"I'm not hurting, okay? I'm fine." She assured as she placed her hands over Lincoln's while looking into his somber brown eyes.

"I don't want you to be alone, today. I can stay home, we can...watch Netflix, cuddle, drink wine...whatever you want. And I'll cook dinner tonight, I don't want you to worry about anything."

Michelle smiled as she watched her tall husband look to her with worry.

"I promise you, I'm okay. Go to work, I'll be fine. I'll be here when you get back."

"Well, I can go with you to the firm. We can gather information and figure it out, together."

"I'm fine, alright? I promise. I wouldn't lie to you, not unless I had a good reason, at least." She chuckled in hopes to break the tension. "Go."

"Are you sure?" Lincoln whispered.

"I'm positive."

"Alright...but call me if suddenly you're not okay, okay?" He sighed before leaning down and pulling his wife into a short yet passionate kiss. "I won't be long, I'm getting off work early."

"Again? You just did that last night."

"Yeah, and I'm doing it again. I'm not letting you sit here, alone all night long...especially not tonight. And I know you're going to say that you're fine, but you can save it, because I'm not gonna change my mind. I mean, why own a private practice if you can't leave work whenever you want?" He flashed yet another bright smile, causing his cheeks to dimple, as he walked towards the front door. "See ya later and don't stay at the firm all day, okay?"

"Yep." Michelle projected her voice before lowering it to a hushed level. "I won't be long."

Michelle sat in the private conference room of the law firm as she observed the large gray, oval shaped table and the multitude of black rolling chairs that surrounded it.

"Michelle, you ready?" Martin inquired while he ran his fingers through his short, jet black hair. He squinted his long, single lidded eyelids as they struggled against the beaming sun that shined through the monumental window, across from him. "We're about to begin, everyone's already down there, just waiting for us."

"Tell 'em to bring out the red carpet." Michelle smirked as she rose from her chair and exited the room.

Martin walked alongside Michelle as they strolled past the vast amount of people that filled the law firm before entering a small room marked Janitor's closet. Martin pushed the door closed as Michelle kneeled down, pulling a mini golden key from her bra. She brought the sharp edged tool to the little key hole that sat in the middle of the compact room and turned it until she heard a quiet click, causing a discrete entrance to open up. Martin lifted up the secret door before motioning the ebony woman to step down the spiraling, elegant staircase that presented itself.

She slowly descended down the elaborate staircase and immediately turned her attention towards the grouo of people that stood around a grandiose table inside of a vast gray room, with poor lighting.

"I'm glad you decided to join us." A man in his early 60's croaked as he stood at the head of the spacious table. His wrinkly fingers were laced over one another, the buttons from his well tailored, midnight blue suit rested against his wrists, in an orderly fashion. His full hair was a crisp white, the kind of white that you hope to see drizzle from the sky on Christmas morning. His prominent crows feet distracted Michelle from his perussian, soul sucking eyes, as they studied her intently.

"Sorry, we're late, Mr. Everette." Martin squeaked as he pulled the ceiling door closed.

"It's fine, Martin." Mr. Everette nodded. He returned his gaze to Michelle, looking to the woman expectantly.

"...Sorry." Michelle reluctantly uttered. "Charles." 

He sarcastically chuckled before tightly clenching his teeth. "Don't be sorry, be on time." He hissed. "Now," He continued. "as I was saying. The big bosses of Versa Vice Sensus are asking that all overseers of each state choose one person that they believe is the most stealthy, successful, discrete and unique with their killing. After choosing said individual, we are to send their names in for a drawing. Because there are forty-nine other overseers, like myself, that govern their brach of the  agency, from their state, there will be a total of fifty names sent in. From there, they will draw a name, at random, thus resulting in a winner. The winner of this contest will receive a special retribution assignment."

"A special assignment?" An overweight man inquired. He wiped away the perspiration from his fair colored bald head using the sleeve of his dark blue jumpsuit as he leaned against his wooden mop and plastic, yellow bucket marked Janitorial supplies.

"Yes, Jim, a special assignment. It will consist of a high profile case. It will allow the winner to assassinate an elected government official of some sorts. I don't have all the details just yet, but while the killer won't be able to choose their assassinee, they will, however, be allowed to chose their method of killing."

The assassination of an elected official? Michelle thought to herself as those around her exchanged wide spread grins. Everyone knew how big that was. No member in the history of Versa Vice Sensus has ever been allowed to kill a government official. That was always the deal. While V.V.S was in fact an agency that was technically created by the government, in reality, there was nothing on paper linking the agency to it. They made sure of that. That's why it's always been so important for each kill to be carefully articulated. One wrong move and the public finds out, which means that every member of V.V.S would be tried before a jury, thrown in jail, or maybe even given the death penalty.

The United States government was always so good at placing blame elsewhere, they made it clear from the very start that if the agency was stupid enough to be placed in the public eye, it would be denounced and labeled as a massive, un-American cult. If they were willing to allow a member of V.V.S to kill one of their own, that person, whoever it was, must have really pissed them off.

"Now, moving on to the main topic of discussion. Did everyone assigned a retribution successfully carry out their duties?" Mr. Everette questioned as he surveyed the room.

Everyone in the cellar exchanged glances with the people around them. Criminal prosecutors, paralegals...even a few of the firm's janitors and secretaries. Charles Everett, the state's district attorney and Martin Khee, the assistant district attorney. All everyday people living double lives. Law abiding citizens, most of which get paid to uphold the law of the land, by day, that become murderous retributioners, at night.

"There were three assignees. Tyson, Gemma, and...Michelle. How did they go? Give me a play by play." Mr. Everette demanded.

"Mine went quite well, sir." Tyson, a young, muscular guy with a buzz cut, reported. "My target, William Thornton, was a serial animal abuser. His latest offence was the few dozen pigs he had crammed into cages, inside of his crappy one bedroom apartment. Smelled like shit, I don't know how he got away with it for so long. It was a pigsty in there...literally."

"And how did you eliminate the target?" Mr. Everette coaxed as his patience grew increasingly thin.

"He always took sleeping pills at night, it's the only way he could ever catch any zzz's. I made sure he got a little more than the suggested dosage."

"So, he died in the midst of his peaceful slumber?" The older man scoffed. "You just shit on your chances for a nomination."

"No." Tyson denied. "A few minutes after he went to sleep I dumped a shit ton of pig feed on top of him...then I let the pigs feast."

"So...is your target dead or not?" Martin inquired.

"You bet your ass. Don't you know anything about pigs?" Tyson shrugged. "Once they start eating, they'll continue eating everything around them, especially an unconscious fatass." He snickered. "They ripped him to shreds."

"Impressive." Mr. Everett praised before emitting a deep, hearty laugh. He then turned his attention to a timid looking woman, in her late forties. Her auburn hair was in a neat bun, away from her bright red glasses that rested on her fair skinned face. "Gemma, how'd yours go?"

"Not all that well, sir." Gemma admitted with her eyes glued to her dark blue heels.

"What do you mean, not all that well?" Mr. Everette demanded as he grew increasingly alarmed. "Did someone see you, did they catch you in the act? Damn it, you should've said something sooner, Gemma!"

"No, nothing like that happened." The timid woman assured.

"Oh." Mr. Everette sighed. "...Then what did happen?"

"I didn't kill him." Gemma muttered.

"Well, why the hell not?" Jim questioned.

"I-I-I." She stuttered. "I got there and I was gonna cut the line in the gas stove in his house, limit the ventilation, and let him die of poisoning, but then, he came home early, I saw him and..."

"And what?" Martin pushed.

"I realized I knew him. We went to the same high school, he was nice...I couldn't do it."

"Was nice, Gemma. Was. As in past tense. You knew him before he started selling dope to kids. We both know that he won't stop until one of us ends him. Plus, how didn't you know that you knew him? You read the case file, right?" Tyson inquired.

"Yeah, but I didn't recognize him, not until I got there. I'm sorry...I just couldn't."

"Why is it always the same shit with you, Gemma? Either you're in this or you aren't. You need to get the job done!" Tyson yelled. "You're going to fuck this up for everyone. Not just all the members in this room, but for everyone in this firm, all the members in this state, all the members in in every other state, and not to mention all of the overseers. Is that what you want?"

"Tyson, please." Mr. Everette calmly pleaded before returning his attention back to the shy woman. "Did he see you? Did he know what was going to happen?

"No, I got out of there, he had no idea." Gemma squeeked.

"Okay, good. Don't fret, Gemma. You did what was right. We don't kill people that we know, we leave that for another member. And I never should've assigned you to that case. He lives in a really dangerous part of town. There's plenty of us that can take care of this. What's his name, again?"

"Georgie Fulton." Gemma answered.

"Alright, who wants it?" Mr. Everette questioned as his piercing eyes bounced around the room. Tyson immediately shot his hand up at his request, he was always up for good kill. The overseer dismissed Tyson and instead allowed his eyes to rest on Michelle. "I forgot about you. How'd your retribution go?"

"...It was fine. Good, actually." Michelle responded. "I used the sharpshooter to put her down. Fired it into the back of her neck, carbon dioxide filled her pedophilic lungs and she died of "respiratory failure". Or at least, that's what the police will think." She smirked.

"You used a sharpshooter?" Mr. Everette chuckled. "Everyone knows that any dumb fuck could kill someone with a sharpshooter. You could be an infant and still execute someone with it. If you were a halfway decent retributioner, you would've put her down with your bare hands, came up with something more creative, more daring, like your peers."

"Gemma used a sharpshooter, just a few weeks ago, for her retribution. I don't see you questioning her." Michelle growled. "I guess her being on her knees for you every night grants her immunity, a shield of protection from your prejudice bullshit." Her low yet feminine voice held great conviction as she eyed the overseer.

Mr. Everett slammed his large, liver spot covered hands onto the rigid table. "Shut your fucking mouth! Don't forget who your boss is." The overseer scorned. Everyone in the firm knew that he was screwing Gemma and any other secretary that he could get his hands on, but no one ever dared to discuss it. "You're not getting a nomination." He declared.

"I wasn't looking for one." The ebony woman hissed through gritted teeth.

"Good. And you know what? You're taking the Georgie Fulton case, tonight." He barked.

"I can't tonight." Michelle sighed.

"Well, you are." He commanded.

"Sir." Martin intervened in a hushed tone. "Today's the anniversary of her mother's death."

"You think I give a fuck about that?" He questioned, his voice thundering throughout the cellar. He stared daggers into Michelle's eyes before speaking again. "Everyone in here has jobs, careers. Shit that they have to get done, things they're held accountable for. Real cases that they have to prosecute in court, janitors that have to clean this place up all day, secretaries that work long hours. And then there's you. A fucking housewife." He bellowed. "What do you have to do that's so important? Cook? Clean? Screw your husband from time to time? There a real workers here with real jobs that still manage to put time aside for their retribution." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "Get it done. Tonight. I want you there and I want a full report at the next meeting. I'm not asking you. That's an order. Say yes." He growled.

Michelle gritted her teeth at the overseer's assertion. She hated that man with every fiber of her being. But, she also knew that Versa Vice Sensus was her only outlet, her way of making the world a more tolerable place. "Yes." She sneered.