[i]Blue. Cerulean. Azure. That’s the color of betrayal, he figures. Betrayal smells like sea salt. He remembers the bitter tang on his tongue when they fought that day. White encrusting his trinkets while Hex’s throat struggles to chant out spells in the stinging air. Betrayal looks like falling down an endless void. The worst part of betrayal isn’t the pain but that you don’t know who’s betrayed whom. Maybe you betrayed him. Maybe he betrayed you. Maybe you betrayed yourself. Betrayal feels like slamming your body against the rocks. Betrayal is a paradoxical mix of sudden and slow. You wonder whether you remained ignorant of the clues or whether you were aware of it all the time. Betrayal is like drowning. Helplessly sinking until you can’t - [/i] [hr] “ ALL PASSENGERS. BE ADVISED. WE ARE CURRENTLY ARRIVING AT CEDAR FORT! WE SINCERELY HOPE YOU HAVE ENJOYED YOUR STAY ON THE INTER-ZONE AUTOMATED MASS TRANSPORT SYSTEM,MANUFACTURED AND DISTRIBUTED BY BY….. “ It takes a while for him to fully wake up but the loud scripted din of the announcer makes him crawl back to consciousness. Lazlo decided at that moment interstate public buses were worse than walking through an art gallery. The stench of seven-day old sweat and bio-eth is heavy in the air. Combined with the limited space, it’s almost downright asphyxiating. The auto-bus is filled to the point where he can barely manages to roll his cramped shoulders. Out of his corner of his eye, he notices a canyon of flashing neon in the distance. The windows are still covered in dew from the storm 30 minutes ago but you can’t mistake Cedar Fort. He bristles in impatience for a moment. Being cooped up in an auto-bus from Hayden Port to Cedar Fort is not an experience that he wants to repeat again. 12 hours feels like 12 days inside here. The bus slows down and he has to wait excruciatingly long before he halt. He breathes as the hydraulic doors unfurl open, soaking in the warm, smoky air of Cedar Fort. “ Where to begin?” He whispers to himself as his mind takes in the sheer size of the city around him. His stomach is growling. There’s a nice looking pho stand to his left. Only problem is that being a wanted fugitive doesn’t exactly leave you with a lot of spare dough to spend. It’s when he notices his hands are shaking. Not from the sub-zero conditioning in the auto-bus or the lack of nutrition. It’s the feeling of being out in the open, feeling like a stranger in new territory, exploring unknown lands, the feeling of a tourist. And being a tourist can get you killed nowadays if you aren’t careful. The last passenger exists the bus and it closes, kicking up a gale of asphalt, old wax paper and mouldy adverts. The passengers scatter away from the bus stop, leaving him standing alone. It’s at that moment that Lazlo decides he needs to make himself feel relaxed. He’s been travelling from Brasilia to the United States non-stop without any breaks. He needs to find somewhere to paint. [hr] Turquoise green. He pauses and then, shakes his head. No, too nauseous. He takes out another cannon, and shakes it before finishing the last touch with a cone of wet pine green. Prying off the gas mask, he stands back and takes a look. A tree isn’t the most unique of symbols but it’s something that everyone can get behind. Besides, growing cages and keys is something everyone can get behind. His tag is a single element of the college that has been smeared over the corporate billboard. The mess of stencils, wild-styles, drunken throw-ups and the odd holo-tag are a mosaic compared to the soulless night-lights of Cedar Fort that he’s overlooking right now. Making the painting took moments but moments could be eternity for whoever was waiting for him in Cedar Fort. Sure, he could have integrated a paint gun into his wrists like the rest of his contemporaries but there’s something about the human physiology in art that mechanical limbs and articulated joints can’t replicate. He’s stayed clean of the aug trend that’s infected most of the populous for a good reason after all. The idea of having metal jacked up was something he never had the guts for. His stomach rumbles and reminds him of what he originally drew it for. Right. Food. “ Not your best work, Lazlo….” He mutters, fanning a rolled up piece of newspaper over his creation to make it dry faster. “ But ...dinner is dinner….” His hand sinks into the picture like its a pool of tar. The four steps are second-nature to him now. He closes his eyes and focuses. [i]Conceptualize. Nature. Growth. Revival. Visualize. Uneven. Branch. Bush. Interpret. Sustenance. Nourishment. Filling. Materialize. [/i] In his hand is a gnarled tree branch, a few fresh leaves with the color of white sprouting along the twigs. He takes a sniff. It smells of autumn and roasted almonds. His stomach stops trembling after the first bite and after the third, it feels like he’s eaten an entire banquet. He looks at his wrist-watch. It’s nearly 2 in the morning. Well, time to get moving to those coordinates, then. He tosses the branch over his shoulders, letting it fall onto the ground, before strapping the gas mask back on and climbing down the billboard sign. The ladder is rusting from years of disrepair but it just barely manages to hold his weight. He finally makes his way down, feet landing on wet back-alley puddles before navigating his way towards the coordinates that Addison gave him. He feels as if the monolithic ruins around him are eyeing him with every step he makes. Ironically, the desolate urban sprawl feels more alive to him than the inner city centers of Cedar Fort. The inundated streets hide patches of grass and moss grows on the decaying walls. Yet, it never makes him less vigilant. Caution isn’t a feeling for him anymore. It’s a state of existence that he’s had to bear for years. With the looming form of the warehouse in plain sight, he approaches it with quiet footsteps. He wonders for a moment if maybe he should go in armed. The purple streak of fire cutting through the air makes him jump briefly in surprise. Armed, it was then. He creeps through the back, rolling out a canvas binder out of his satchel bag to reveal Peaceful Asymmetry No .12. It’s undergone several reinterpretations throughout the years but cubism has always been a favourite style of his. He pulls out a sword that looks as if its been stitched from severed glass. It gives him a minor migraine by just looking at it. The sword shifts in shape like a chameleon with every slight movement, morphing between a jagged cut-lass, an ancient chipped zweihander and a needle-thin fencing sword. He tightens the hood around his head out of nervousness. Peeking out from behind a strip of shattered brick walls, he narrows his eyes at the sight of a vehicle that he's seen dozens of times. After all, being pursued by state police gets you acquainted with their style. Getting arrested by the federales was not what he imagined when he traveled to the states. He’s close enough that he can just make out a conversation between what he presumed was the federale and....Stardust? Hex never told him that he knew her out of all people. The once-famed hero's grouchy tone of voice is a far-cry from the old archive videos that he's seen of her. Clearly, she had a change of attitude over the years as well given how flippantly she threatened the federale. He shuffles a little to the right in order to get closer, not intending to reveal himself yet. It's when he doesn't notice the rotting plan of wood that everything goes south. 130 pounds of himself pressing down with his worn heeled boot is enough to make a loud, sharp crack that's audible enough to be heard by everyone, including both Stardust and the federale. Well, being conspicuous went out of the window. He slowly stands up out of cover, both hands raised up in the air with [i]Peaceful Assymetry[/i] held in his right. His right hand twitches and the fencing sword warps into an oversized butcher's knife. " Would you believe me if I said I came for an autograph, senora?" He takes one step forward with trepidation. " How about we start off with you promising me you won't blast my head off?" He then nods towards the heavily armoured police officer. " I wouldn't recommend starting off with him first, even though I wouldn't have an issue with it. Given both of our colorful histories, having the federales on our asses is not what we need right now."