A Work of Art

The Operator

“Thank you for calling the Daybreak City Police Department, do you have a non-emergency complaint or issue we can assist with?”

“Yeah, there's a really cool-looking vandal on the loose, he's tagging that one bar on the corner of West Street and Pine Avenue. You know the one.”

The woman on the other end sighed. “We'll send a patrol officer for you, Reikas.”

Reikas hung up the phone, staring at his latest masterpiece. Hastily scrawled on the wall were 2 sets of blue stick figures, one smiling and the other frowning. The spray paint dripped as it dried, only adding to the illusion of inexperience and incompetence. Sure, it wasn't intentional, but that's the beauty of art. It's simple enough for the layman to digest, and yet deep enough for philosophers in the future to discuss at length. He took a deep breath through his nose, and slowly exhaled. This would be the piece that finally connects with the public, the one that would capture minds and hearts, and that the judge would have no choice but to keep up and not make him clean it off like his last-

The sudden blare of police sirens snapped Reikas out of his trance. It was time for his favorite part of the whole routine. Running a hand through his messy black hair, now drenched with sweat, he beamed. He lowered his mask, a beige full-face mask with two thin black lines for eyes and a goofy-looking smile. It was ironic. He couldn't tell you how it was ironic, but he was confident there was some level of irony there. 

There was probably some irony in his hiding next to a dumpster, also.

The cop sent to investigate Reikas and his magnum opus wasn't ready for him to burst out from behind. A quick pistol whip from the temple and the pig fell to the ground. As if a switch had been flicked, he felt the adrenaline course through him, savoring the rush. He bolted off… before he took a second to listen. The silence was deafening. Unsure of the source of it, he turned back around to investigate what exactly he did. Walking back to the poor sap, he nudged him slightly with his foot to no response. Their pulse was fine, unlike his assailants. They were breathing normally, the slow breaths helping Reikas steady his own. Thank god it wasn't serious… but where were the other officers? He glanced around hesitantly, bracing himself for a reveal that never came. It really was only one cop this time. Reikas sighed, although he couldn't tell if it was relief or disappointment. It's probably for the best if fewer people chase him. He just has that much more free time to work on his craft.

Reikas dropped his newly-emptied spray paint can as he stepped back. It was his calling card, a way to say “Reikas was here”, just in case his art (and the piece of paper reading “Reikas was here”) left any confusion. He walked nonchalantly through the streets. The blue-collar district wasn't a place most people would want to be caught in. The buildings were all run down, boarded up and abandoned. Occasionally, a plank of wood or part of an old sign would drop from their rightful place, a warning to the rest of the structures about their inevitable fate. Even the sky itself seemed ready to fall, with the grey of the clouds adding to the suffocating drab palette of the area. A few twists and squeezes into tight alleys, he knew a few safe places. Finding a large metal door with a slit at eye level, Reikas knocked. Footsteps slowly trudged towards him, opening the slit.

“Who.”

Reikas took off his mask. “Open up, Eden. It's me.”

“...what happened to your scar?”

Confused, Reikas took out his phone. Almost distracted by the mounds of notifications he certainly wasn't ignoring, he opened his camera. His pale skin and striking green eyes drew attention to a scar on his left eye. One that seemed to almost be… dripping. Panicked, Reikas ducked out of sight of the door before re-emerging a minute later with a smile. The scar looked much better. Almost real.

Eden opened the door, rolling their eyes. Reikas entered the safehouse, immediately shedding their black hoodie, stained with paint. Somehow, even his body underneath was just as stained. Eden’s face matched the crimson tones on Reikas’ skin, subtly taking pictures with their eye camera implants for later use. It wasn't the first time they saw him strip, but it was always nice to have pictures for a personal collection. They followed suit, stripping off their tight white shirt but leaving their gray sweatpants.

“Still don't get why you gotta paint that mark.” 

“Artists have to suffer. Like Van Gogh? His ear. Michaelangelo? He… probably suffered. Reikas? A sick scar on his eye.”

After letting out a larger than necessary sigh, Eden meandered to the fridge as their friend crashed on the nearby couch. The safehouse was essentially a tiny apartment. The main living space held only a couch and an old, 2200s model television. The other rooms consisted of a kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom split in half by a curtain. Cramped and lacking personality, sure, but it was out of the way enough to deter all but the most serious investigators. It kept them safe, and that was all they needed it to do. A quick tap on their arm and Eden spoke in an exact mimicry of Reikas. “Oh look at me. I'm Reikas, I'm gonna pretend to have trauma and then hide it with a 3 dollar Halloween mask.”

Reikas opened his mouth to argue. After a few seconds, he realized he really couldn't. “You really like that voice module thing.”

“This cost me 10k, I’m getting my money's worth. You have your art, I have mine.” Eden replied, back in their normal voice. They sat down next to Reikas, holding a cold can of no brand soda. “Have you heard back from anywhere yet? Being an ‘artist’ doesn't pay the bills, I think.”

“It will. Once I get more fans like you.” Reikas smiled and gave Eden a pat on the shoulder, moving their hand up to play with their shoulder length light-brown hair. They gave a poor attempt to hide their smile. It took an hour to style it juuuust right with the middle parting, but Reikas always seemed to resolve to ruin it in under 5 minutes.

“You're dodging.”

“Well, for once I have, yeah. Some addict wants me to steal from their dealer. No questions asked.”

Eden's smile quickly turned into a concerned look. “...Reikas. I give you a lot of shit, but are you genuinely sure you're up for that? That's pretty-” A wave of Reikas’ hand cut them off. 

“I'll be fine. You've seen me get through worse.”

“Yeah, but… look, I just don't want you to add guns and blood to your palette.”

Reikas frowned. “There's art to that. In a sense.”

“Just don't die, okay?”

“Couldn't if I tried.”