Instead of a cab, I strolled down Chicago's streets. Admiring the buildings and taking a final look at the people.

Here.

I looked around and saw a dojo across the streets. The facade had a painting of a cascade with a tiger snarling at a dragon.

It reeks of corruption.

We can tell Warden Morgan to check this place after he is done with the choppity chop.

I am calling in the favour.

Oooor we could take a look .

I crossed the street and got inside. As soon as I set a foot, the hairs of my neck stood up. Cries could be heard from the hall.
All the wooden walls and carpeted floor did little to ease my shaking hands.

Vessel, let me take control.

Promise not to kill?

On the Art.

At that, I relaxed and scooted over to the passenger seat. There were a lot of things we didn't agree with Great Tiger. Yet he always turned solemn when it was about The Art.

The world became red-tinted, looking behind the lenses of the spirit. My posture changed and the shaking stopped. With measured strides, we crossed the hall. The door at the end had its arch carved with tigers, clawing at the roof.

Great Tiger rapped my knuckles against the solid oak door and waited.
And waited.
Then he pulverized the door, spraying splinters everywhere.