The painter, as she called him, was a strange creature, silent and lonely. A boy who could not be much older than her, though it was hard to tell by her exaggerated height. He was thin and tall as a skyscraper, but weak as her complexion was almost sick.
Throughout the hunt she had learned a few things based on observing or send someone to do it, when she had the time she preferred to follow him by herself. When not, she resorted to her bodyguards.
She still did not know where he came from, but he always came to the city these same days traveling by public transport, and moved quickly to gather all the materials in local stores. It was difficult to track him because that tall devious creature always used a different store, and did not stay in them longer than necessary. Celeste suspected the boy was traveling to the city to avoid being recognized near his home, but also intuited that he did it to him to expand his area of influence.
Wherever he went, he always embodied a different design in different walls and textures, bright colors and vibrant, always leaving a small firm in cryptic letters. Sometimes he used abstract letters representing cities, drinks, games and even people. Any word or object was good to end in one of his graffiti. No matter what the word, he was able to spice it using the appropriate colors.

Stereo, as he called himself, had a great ability to view and draw what he saw in his mind. Watching him, Celeste had discovered that his graffiti always had two parts, one part of planning in which he looked as if was trying to hypnotized his "canvas" and a second part where his hands moved with a supernatural speeds.
The first part was very boring, from a distance she did not hear any noise, nor saw any movement. But she was sure that his brain was planning step by step every detail of the next few minutes.
The time since he entered that state of trance until he came out was extremely variable, so she could never be sure how long it would take. And therefore, she needed to watch him very carefully even is nothing was happening because at any moment he could start.

After escaping from his trance, the boy with long and thin arms would turn into a machine with the sole purpose of finishing the work. His hands moved rapidly but with precision, while his eyes followed the movement of his hands as they jumped from one place to another. She suspected he was capable of viewing at the same time the work in process and the finished one . With that hypothetical double vision, he could correct any error large or minimum immediately, so his paintings always had the highest quality possible. Celeste hated him for that. And also hated the beautiful colors used in these abstract things she could not understand. But then again, that passion and skill, produced a strange sensation that attracted her and forced her to follow him.
As a trophy of war, Celeste always took a photo of the completed graffiti and then stole each color used, so that the magnificent painting become a completely gray image, stripped of all life.

In that sinister collection of trophies, she could find many works of the boy called Stereo. Words, pictures, stains. All kinds of works of different sizes and different colors.
Contrary to her prey, she had no need to hide her movements. Photographic paper, a printer of the highest quality, ink for the aforecited printer. All of that, she could get through her many minions who were always willing to do errands for her, whenever there was any benefit to them. There always was something for them. And she never lacked employees to use. From her bodyguards and drivers, to the lady who cook for them, also the one that cleaned. They all liked to receive a small bonus.

Whenever she returned from her hunts, she came back with high definition photos of each of the new graffitis. Pictures of when they still have all their colors.
In her box with many memories, she kept a diary. A simple diary with a lock that she was sure that anyone could break, but since the box was guarded by all her shoes, it would be almost impossible to reach it.
In that diary she attached each photos with a paper clip. On the other side of it, she wrote where she had found the graffiti. The address where it was, and the description of the wall were extremely important, because sometimes the new works appeared in previously painted walls. Since she had the correct dates and places the child could quickly check the previous state of the wall and the transformation it had suffered.
After each piece was in place, she filled the rest of the page with the colors taken from that graffiti.

Each line of the sheet acted as a natural boundary, limiting the colors so they do not escape into the neighboring lines.
All colors were stuck in the lines, one color per line, so her diary soon became a great catalog of colors she could use whenever she wanted. When some colors began to dwindle, she simply needed to copy and duplicated them as she earned, and that color returned to be available. Pasted on a new line.
She never filled the five pages that she left between each graffiti. Thus, when she finished using the colors she could keep them organized no matter how often she needed to duplicate them.

Fortunately for Celeste, the task of watching him was really easy. Since Stereo always painted in the same day, she just needed to be prepared when he came to New York from Grand Central Terminal, then she just needed to follow him.
The exciting part was to see his face of frustration when he discovered that some of his creations had been stripped of all life. That moment was priceless and made all the effort worthwhile. Unfortunately the boy immediately took a stance of indifference to the abandoned art to began later to plan his moves carefully. Once he was out of the trance, the work quickly was not only destroyed by Celeste but by his own hands too.

Sometimes he used a few lines of the previous work, as a guide for the new graffiti but most of the time he planned a new pattern. It was easy to tell when this occurred, because he seemed to completely ignore the previously painted lines. His eyes jumped from one place to another, no matter what was painted underneath.
Following the imaginary pattern, he always managed to hide all traces of the old paint as he gave life to a new piece of art with many different colors. No matter if the object of his art was an inanimate element, or were simple words, he always managed to give life to it in some way.

Even better than the new graffiti, was to see how a lifeless drawing courtesy of Celeste, became a new drawing, a new emblem of his abilities. That makes her angry and please her at the same time. It made her angry because he was challenging her. And it please her because every time he painted again, she could continue with the chase. The hunt.
And even when she had seen a lot of his art, Celeste never got bored of watching them and especially stealing his colors.

To know her enemy was an essential part of her research that kept her out of trouble... not really, because the "knowing" part was not as effective as the "watching", she was sure there was no risk with the amateur painter. She did not know why, but she knew it. Her vengeful part suggested that if he had not done something about the disappearance of his colors, he would never harm her in any way. and therefore, just by that, she had the every right to continue robbing him. She was wrong.

Following the routine that the stranger had established, she left her home very early to go to her lessons. So she had plenty of time to observe him, note the locations of his new graffiti and then attend her classes. Then when she had extra time, she could take each graffiti without worry.
But something went terribly wrong. She followed the boy as usual until he found a place out of sight and without a single spot to record his art, it seemed that everything was normal but at the moment he would have to have enter his creative trance, the boy fainted.
Desperate, Celeste came out of her hiding place behind a bush and knelt beside the body. What should she do? She would not give him cardiopulmonary resuscitation, not when she had never kissed anyone. She had to check his pulse.
With trembling hands she moved even closer to the boy, and put two fingers on his wrist. There was so much noise that she could not hear nothing, neither felt his heartbeat. When she was beginning to think that the painter was dead, she began to hear the rhythmic sound of a heart. Was it hers heart? Or was the boy?

No there was no time to find the answer. Immediately the boy jumped over her, using his weight to bring her down. Stunned, the two rolled into a whirlwind while fighting for control. Finally Stereo ended over her, pressing her body against the ground while his hands gripped her wrists, immobilizing her beautiful arms. "Let me go." The girl cried. "You're the one that destroyed my things, right?" Asked the boy with a voice too old for his age. "Who are you?" The boy asked again, knocking her wrist on the floor.
Dominated by fear, she could not utter a word. She had nothing to say. There was not a good sentence for that situation. Still, she found strength for a savage denial. In which not only she denied being the destroyer of his work, but she also refused to tell her name.
The young boy in contrast, seemed unfazed by her answer and asked again with more insistence. The anger grew in his voice. His voice grew with rage. Becoming more and more like a roar than a human voice.
His anger had grown so much that now he did not ask again, he directly attempted to hit her with all his strength, but the girl full of adrenaline moved in the right moment. Action that gave her a chance to counter attack. Which weapon? Her teeth.
Celeste nailed her white teeth in the child's arms so strongly that she teared cry of despair from him. The more she tightened, the more he screamed. Celeste only stopped when she tasted the boy's blood, then she jumped toward her backpack that had fallen. While the stupid painter grabbed his injured arm in an attempt to relieve the pain. His eyes tried to kill her, when they failed, he started shouting that the fight was not over and though wounded, he stood up.

Celeste was so close to her enemy and so far at the same time, that it was impossible for her to determine who would win or how long she had left. If caught before she found her weapon, she would die under a brutal flurry of punches...
The queen quickly put her hands inside her backpack while with faltering steps she began to move away from her opponent. If only to gain valuable seconds.
Fear transformed her into a clumsy person, ready to run but unable to do anything else. As that simple task was becoming a complete odyssey.
And that damn fear grew. At every moment it grew more and more.
Then her fingers touched the surface of her trusty weapon. And the fear faded away.
The courage of the weapon went through the plastic and entered into her arm to climb to her heart and brain. And a glorious smile formed on her face. A triumphant smile.
The child had already begun to move and watched her with eyes full of rage, ready to bite her if that was needed. His wild eyes were saying that he would do anything to win, fortunately he did not have to do anything else but crumble. When the metal teeth penetrated his skin, the electricity activated all his muscles. The contraction made him hit the floor, unable to control his seizures. When electricity stopped, Celeste sent another pulse. Another wicked pulse in which the boy was unable to control its members.
Without wasting a single second, she took her scarf from her backpack and ran to the boy that began to regain mobility. Another discharge took it off again.
By the time he began to move again, he had his arms tied behind his back. While Celeste sit on his back using her weight to keep him restrained. It was not her tiny body that stopped him, but fear.

There was no time to ramble on assumptions and whys. Nor was a way to turn back time. So she did what her instinct said.
With much practice, she removed the used cartridge with one hand. While the other continued squeezing his neck to keep his head against the floor. Now she could put a new cartridge and shoot again, or use the device as a painful stun gun.
Her malevolent smile widened even more. She chose the second option.
Pressing the corresponding button, the device produced a beam of electricity that sparkled with its distinctive roar. The characteristic sound was surpassed only by the cry of pain from his captive when electricity began to burn his skin. "This is my city." Said the girl, while she gave her a few seconds without pain. "Yes, yes." Stereo replied in a voice very similar to that of her friend Sofia, as he wept openly. For answer, she nailed her gun in the boy's shoulder and pressed the button once again. The choking cry hide the classic whiplash of electricity. A peculiar sound resembling a robotic laugh. Crack crack crack.
"If I see you again here, I'll kill you." Then gifted him with another laugh from her trusty robotic taser.
And before the boy could say another word, the girl had disappeared.
Stereo never set foot New York City again.