Paint Me Blue

I. The New Forensic Artist

2019

The abandoned building loomed in the dim light, its cracked walls and hollow windows worn down by time. Dust settled in thick layers across the uneven floors, while faded posters clung to the peeling walls as though clinging to a life long past. It had once been alive, brimming with people and movement. Now though, it was a husk.

But for War, this building was everything. Its walls, aged and broken, held the possibility of endless canvases,space for him to paint freely, unrestricted by the expectations of galleries and exhibits.

War had begun by painting a single wall, letting his brush bring to life a portrait that seemed to stare back at him. That first portrait, vibrant and haunting, was only the beginning.
Over time, he covered nearly every wall in the building.

Faces watched from every corner, faces of strangers, faces from his memory, faces that didn't exist anywhere except in his mind. Some of these portraits radiated joy, their features warm and lively, while others were contorted, exaggerated, the eyes too wide or the smiles unnaturally long, as though trying to reveal the chaos or darkness hidden beneath.
One face was almost featureless, hollowed-out and ghostly, yet somehow raw with emotion; another stared with an expression that could be either joy or anguish, depending on the angle you looked at it.

Each figure spoke of something complex as love, fear, loneliness, rage. War poured his soul into these faces, each brushstroke conveying a feeling he couldn't put into words. Some were serene, others unsettling, as though each was keeping a secret they refused to tell.

War worked tirelessly, the daylight fading to twilight, lost in the rhythm of paint and color. This place, once desolate, had become a sanctuary of his imagination. He was at home here, surrounded by these faces he'd created, each one reflecting a piece of himself and the world as he saw it.

The building was a gift from his art professor, a quiet acknowledgment of War's potential, and an offering of complete creative freedom. Here, he was free from the weight of fame, free to create something true to himself. His professor's words echoed in his mind as he painted, "You're meant to breathe life into the empty spaces, War. So fill them."

And so he did. War's brush moved with an intensity that bordered on obsession, bringing each stroke to life, transforming the worn, cracked walls of the building into a museum of emotion.

War was just putting the final touches on the woman's left eye, focusing on the subtle shadow in her gaze, when his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He put the brush down carefully, lifting his upper lip in a smile that betrayed his anticipation. He didn't need to check the caller ID to know who it was; this was Yin's ringtone, one he'd set months ago.
Wiping his paint-streaked hands on the apron he wore, War pulled his phone out and answered quickly.

"Hello, Yin? Is it time already?" His voice brimmed with excitement. They'd planned for this night, which is a rare evening off to enjoy a quiet dinner with a mutual friend. It was a small escape from their busy lives, one he'd been looking forward to all week.

Yin's voice came through the line, but it wasn't the cheerful tone War had hoped for. "Hello? Ugh, no babe, I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be able to make it tonight."

War's heart sank slightly, but he tried to keep his tone light. "What happened?"

"Captain Lin... He just extended the investigation hours on this special case, and there's no way I can leave early. I've tried, really, but he wants me on scene, and I just...I'm sorry, babe."

The disappointment was instant, and War's smile faded as he forced himself to sound understanding. "It's okay, Yin. I know it's important."

Yin hesitated. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Just one more week and this case will be wrapped up."