The Neon Fugitive

For three days, Leo Sketch Rossi was the most dangerous man in the universe.

He learned the rules of this world—the Albino Citadel—on the run.

Rule One: Color is matter. A sketch of a ladder in "Matte Black" became a solid iron ladder he could climb. A doodle of a hamburger in "Burnt Sienna" became hot, savory meat that kept him from starving, though it tasted faintly of aerosol fumes.

Rule Two: Intent fuels the paint. If he painted with fear, the lines were brittle. If he painted with anger, they exploded like grenades.

He was hiding in the upper spires of the city, sleeping on ledges, watching the patrols below. They were hunting him. The "Justicars."

But Leo was getting bold. He wasn't just surviving; he was offended. This world was a crime against humanity. It was boring. It was a waiting room for death.

He stood before the Great Gates of the Citadel, a massive expanse of white steel that loomed over the central plaza. It was night, or what passed for night here—the sky just dimmed to a darker shade of nothing.

"They need to see it," Leo muttered. He shook two cans at once. "They need to remember."

He worked fast. He rappelled down the gate using a rope made of "Midnight Blue" paint.

He didn't paint a dragon or a demon. He painted what he knew. He painted the feeling of a Friday night in America.

He sprayed a massive, jagged stripe of Red. *Passion. Anger. Blood.*

He sprayed a stripe of White. *Not their dead white, but a blinding, star-hot white.*

He sprayed a stripe of Blue. *The deep, melancholy blue of a jazz chord.*

He wrote one word across the gates in letters ten feet high: **FREEDOM.**

The paint sang. Literally. The Red hummed a low bass note; the Blue wept a violin melody. The combination created a harmony that vibrated through the stones of the plaza.

Below him, citizens began to gather. They stared up, their mouths open. Tears—actual, wet tears—streamed down their pale faces. A child reached up, trying to touch the music.

"Beautiful," a man whispered. It was the first unauthorized word Leo had heard in days.

* CRASH.*

A silver boot kicked Leo in the chest.

He swung wildly on his rope, slamming into the gate. Above him, on the ramparts, stood the Justicar.

She had removed her helmet.

She was severe. That was the only word for her. Sharp cheekbones, skin like alabaster, and eyes of a terrifying, piercing gray. Her hair was white, pulled back in a braid so tight it looked painful.

High Justicar Vesper.

"You poison them," Vesper said. She cut his rope.

Leo fell.

He scrambled in mid-air, spraying a cushion of "Cloud White" beneath him. It caught him with a wet *thwack*, but the impact knocked the wind out of him.

He rolled to his feet, gasping. Vesper landed in front of him, creating a crater in the marble. She raised her glass sword.

"You bring pain," she said, stepping forward. "You bring noise."

"I bring life!" Leo shouted. He scrambled backward, fumbling for a can. "Look at them! They're crying because they're finally feeling something!"

"Feelings are a disease," Vesper lunged.

Leo didn't have a weapon. He had a can of "Gold Leaf."

He panicked. He didn't aim for her body; he aimed for her face.

* PSSSHHHT.*

A cloud of metallic gold spray hit Vesper point-blank.

She didn't scream. She froze.

The gold didn't blind her. It seeped into her skin. And because of the proximity, because of the adrenaline, a psychic circuit snapped open between them.

Leo felt her mind. It was a cathedral of ice. Cold, perfect, and excruciatingly lonely.

Vesper felt his mind. It was a dumpster fire. It was loud music, the smell of pepperoni pizza, the shame of a rejected loan application, the warmth of a summer sun she had never seen.

She staggered back, dropping her sword. She touched her face, her fingers coming away gold.

"What..." she gasped, her voice cracking. "What is this burning?"

"It's hope, lady," Leo panted, scrambling for an alleyway. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

He ran.

Vesper watched him go. She should have thrown her dagger. She should have raised the alarm.

But she looked at the gold on her fingertips. For the first time in her life, she saw a color that wasn't gray. And it was the most beautiful, terrible thing she had ever seen.