Celeste changed the page abruptly almost severing it, the end was near and there was no mention of her little adventure. She took a moment to calm down, ready to unleash a scream that would tear the ears and the newspaper too, but at the last moment she found it. The article was very small. Hidden in the shadow of other mayor news. None of them more interesting than hers. But for some reason the press had given more importance to those robberies and murders. She did not know why.
The girl quickly finished the petite article. She did not like what she saw. She read it again more carefully, this time between lines, trying to find what she was looking for. Twelve cars. Painted cryptically. Pink. Fabric. Just the facts. Re-reading it would be pointless, the article was very small. It was impossible to lose something in that tiny amount of letters.
Not a single mention of the great artist that did it, not even a clever nickname worthy of a villain. Nothing.
Andrew was reading over her shoulder, he frowned clearly upset. "What's next? The Statue of Liberty?" He joked in an unkind tone while shaking his head in denial. Then he just walked away toward the kitchen. Obviously he did not agree with that kind of art.
Peter's words kept echoing in her head, causing a loud noise when they hit the invisible walls of her psyche. The noise gradually increased. It was impossible not to pay attention to those words. No one could help but notice the statue of liberty with another color, with a funnier color... but it would not be easy to paint that gargantuan lady. It was practically impossible. Too much security. It would take too long.
She leaned back in her comfy chair, defeated, letting that luxury object comfort her. She needed something to identify her, a sigil, a symbol, something. She needed to draw everybody attention. Her father attention.

The idea was growing inside her head slowly. Inadvertently she accepted and rejected her own ideas, in a competitive selection process that lasted days. When that idea finally grew up enough to be noticed, it was impossible to look away. She had her epiphany. The Queen would be her sigil.
What spectacular piece of art would use to release her sigil? Again, her imagination opened a competition attended by all her thought. One by one they were judged. Until finally, after a week of debate, the vote was unanimous.

The mysterious black van cruised the streets near Central Park for about one hour. It was a miracle that no one has reported it. The streets were empty. It was three in the morning. But there would be watchful eyes. Somewhere. They must start as soon as possible.
Inside the van, its members took their positions. Celeste and her faithful bodyguard Max were in the back. Of course she was there only to monitor, she would not stain her hands.
When they arrived to the interception, her new driver Malcolm slowed giving the order they expected.
At unison both opened the back doors of the van, the black doors began to shake with the movement in a dangerous dance.
Using an entire week of accumulated stress, Max began to pierce the paint barrels one on one with a sharp knife. Each time the instrument get out of the tough skin of the barrel, it was stained in a new color. When the task was done, he carelessly threw the knife.
Max put them up forming a wall. Standing there like a protective barrier. A wall of paint barrels of 5 gallons each. Red. Blue. Yellow. Side to side. Everything happened before the watchful eyes of Celeste. Everything seemed perfect. She was ecstatic watching the hypnotic cascade of colors. The barrels were bleeding without hesitation, spilling its contents onto the street, forming a small rainbow in its suffering. The van was moving slowly enough to form three homogeneous lines. Incredibly they reached the middle of Central Park without any problem. But it was time to change the barrels.

3AM. Early morning. When most people were in bed.

He hadn't been able to sleep.

His police radio was tuned in. He felt like he could use a distraction.

An officer's voice cut into the normal chatter and silence of the radio with a squad car number and a message. Something was going down in Central Park. Potential vandalism.

He leaned forward and spoke into his radio. "Detective Drake here. I'm near the scene. I'll handle this. Over."

Grabbing his things, he headed out the door.

They pushed the empty barrels to the end of the van, then the plastic containers rolled down the street. Smearing paint in every turn in every direction. Transforming the neat lines into growing patches. The bright colors were mixed, creating new colors.
While Max moved three barrels toward the doors, Celeste searched for the knife her stupid bodyguard thrown into the shadows inside the van. While she was looking for it, she noticed that there were just three extra barrels. Enough for another round... but not more. The girl cursed. She misjudge the amount of paint needed to finish the job.
And cursed again. Her jean was full of small spots of paint, plus two large spots on the knees. Her hands were relatively clean, until she found the knife in the dark.

Another three pierced barrels took the place of the old ones. The van began to move again, generating the three colored lines one more time, steps ahead of where the other lines ended.

Ashton fanned a yawn as he rolled along.

Central park, Central Park. He was so on this. Whatever it was.

The car sped up. Lights whipped by on either side of him as the city blurred. Time passed. He came upon the scene.

His cherry and blueberry police lights lit up the night, swirling deliciously as his headlights cast shadows and illuminated the rainbow on the road.

She cursed again. This time aloud. Max looked at her, playing to be an adult and gave her a reproachful gaze. Her bodyguard was about to scold her as her father never did. Clearly this was not the vocabulary expected from a girl of her class. She knew it but...
She sharpened her ear. Trying to remain silent under these accusing eyes. There it was again. The siren howled. The only audible noise tore the quietness of the night. At that time Max also heard it. He jumped in his place, visibly scared. Now his accusing eyes, became a silent plea. Her bodyguard was torn between escaping or staying with her to face the consequences. He did not want to abandon her to fate, but... He wanted much less to end up in jail... Malcolm certainly thought the same.

It was all in her hands. She knew it. Until that moment she had never shown much interest in her employees, but deep down she knew they were not just employees. They were part of her family. And a this time they were also her responsibility.
Celeste tried to find a peaceful answer, but her thoughts were blocked again and again by the piercing shriek of the siren. The sound was closer, dancing in the streets at a rapid pace. The van was not fast enough. Nothing was fast enough to escape that hungry ghost. To her horror, now the lights were visible. Blue as their uniforms. Red as blood. The lights bounced off on every surface. Analyzing them. Judging them.

In a burst of courage, her words escaped from her lips in panic. These words were a little more than babbling but she tried her best to give orders to them. Although her authority was gone the instant she saw these spooky lights. Her words were completely covered in fear and doubt.
What she feared the most was the small change they would not listen her because of the sound of the siren, so she repeated her plea again and again. Almost in frenzy. Until, with relief, she saw how Max threw the barrels and Malcolm stopped the van just a moment after. Both ran from the scene as soon as possible. To the park. Just as she ordered.

Clumsily, she moved into the drivers seat. While waiting she said to herself that nothing will happen. She was under age. He could not do anything to her, right? She doubt it.

Ashton lazily swerved to avoid the barrels.

Okay. Barrels. Throwing barrels. Who were these people? Donkey Kong?

Uncool.

Uncool how uncool people could be about him having thought that dated reference, too. Or even being shocked he knew it.

He pulled the vehicle up behind the van, and parked it. It was stopped now. They could deal with this. Unless she tried anything funny.

This wasn't a speeding ticket. He had his gun drawn as he approached the driver's side window.

"My name is officer Drake, from MRC. Get out of the car. Hands above your head. Now."

They could do this the easy way or the hard way. He hoped whoever the driver was, it'd be easy. They'd deal with the people he'd noticed fleeing the vehicle once the driver was out.

He stepped one more step and brought her face into view.

She was expecting it, but still the little courage she somehow achieved to raise was not enough. It faded instantly and she almost jumped on her place when that voice sounded far above her as if the police officer was a colossal giant. She also found that his voice was extremely authoritarian, almost angry. Or was it just his badge doing the trick for him? Anyway, she did not even dare to look straight at him. She kept her black eyes on the road, as if she was really driving... giving him occasional glances of terror.
"Hi..." The girl said with extreme concern, not really knowing what was the procedure for an arrest. Should she shake his hand? Should she come forward and give an excuse? Or should she wait for him to question?
Her concerns were elevated above the clouds at the time she heard "MRC". Mutant Related Crimes. It could not be, there was no way anyone knew she was a mutant. And to think she had felt so secure to hear of the formation of the MRC. And now... they were chasing her.
Celeste tried to control herself, but her fear was taking over. She trembled slightly the whole time, but especially while leaving the vehicle with her hands up. Looking toward the officer, but really not seeing him.
Any wrong movement and she could end like a strainer.

The plastic ties slid into place around her wrists as he went on conversationally. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the funky paint job back there, would you? And those people who ran off before you stopped. Could have sworn I'd seen..."

She was just a kid. What were they teaching kids these days? Why, if he'd tried to raise hell at her age way back when... his dad would have put the fear of god into him. Well. Someone had to. Eventually.

He gave her the hint it was time to turn around. Made sure to lock up her pretty vehicle and call dispatch on the way back to his car about impounding a vehicle. Certainly wouldn't do to leave it out.

Despite her insecurity and fear, these new fashioned plastic handcuffs encouraged her. "They would be better in pink... whatever". She waited for the old handcuff of cold metal. Frozen claws that would eat her skin at the slightest touch as if they were made of acid.
The situation had not improved at all, but as long she could avoid looking directly at the officer, she would feel a little more relieved. The whole situation was completely new. Would it be easier the second time? One thing was sure, it was much better not to see his gun or badge. Both signs of his authority over any civilian. And she also got the change to blatantly lie without looking at his eyes. She will had to work in her angelic voice. Her acting lessons were not going to be good. He was an officer trained to uncover lies. "You ..." She stuttered. Part of if was because she was scared. Another bit was insecurity.
She did not know exactly what to say. The words crossed her mind quickly, but none seemed right. All looked like a big lie. "...will not believe what happened." It was as if she had been late for an appointment and tried to apologize. She spoke quickly, trying to finish her story before something worse happen. Trying to modulate her voice so that lie would be credible. She never invented such an absurd story. His father had never asked for it. Celeste just was not in his list of priorities. "I was just examining this suspicious looking ban, and then..." A dramatic pause to gain some time for her brain to keep building the unlikely story. Once the weak ideas were placed in place, she continued... "All of a sudden these kidnappers appeared out of nowhere." Generally, her lies were quite convincing, but usually she did not have handcuffs and was taken to a police car in the middle of the night . Knowing that lying was useless, she started again. Not a lie this time. "I am the daughter of a very important person." She added. Hoping the police to get the message. "If you do not believe my history, ask for money and lets end this right now." The little voice in her mind commanded it. Of course she did not have the skills to send her message to another person.
At that time the van was the last thing in the world that mattered to her, it was not hers but anyway she still followed the officer's orders exactly as he said.
"Now what?" She asked when she finally gathered the courage and achieved to speak again, both challenging and uncertain. Almost on the verge of tears.

>>"You ..." "...will not believe what happened."

Oh, here it came. The lying.

"Try me." He said impassively.

She gave him a story. A story he didn't believe for a second. But whatever.

"You didn't really answer my question," He said. "About those people. But we can handle all the rest of that questioning back at the station."

That said, he got her by the shoulders and wheeled her straight to the back of his car.

Once she was locked in, he went and made sure they had the keys, and that the other vehicle was locked up. Got on the radio with someone and arranged for a tow truck. It was the impound lot for this vehicle. He let the girl stew in her guilt. Took his time. It'd be a long night.

Despite the feeling of guilt, she knew it was part of the magic of the uniform, the badge and the police car. Each small piece was designed to create a sense of guilt, even if it was false. Celeste knew that she felt no guilt for the act of vandalism, not for lying to an officer who was just doing his job. But that uncomfortable feeling in her heart continued all the way. She was scared. Fear was the source of her tears that flowed onto her lips. Her mouth closed all the way. As graves. She thought.

Although she knew that lies were not going to take her anywhere, she would not tell the truth. So she kept her sanity trying to invent a compelling story. It was just to lost some time. Since she was extremely bored, impatient and uncomfortable.
No matter what position she tried, Celeste could not find the comfort she need to calm down her impatience. It was not her limousine. It was not her couch. It was not her bed. She was in a police car heading for a long and tedious questioning. That was the part that most terrified her. Entering a dimly lit interrogation room as in the movies. Where a police officer would shout questions and to try to get the truth. She had many ideas and many doubts in her head, completely unaware of the procedure but if anything was certain, was that the night would be long. Very long.