Chapter Three

Color adorned every surface. Spray paint was in splatters everywhere. Small multicolored lights crossed above our heads, giving light to the place. Stalls surrounded the center, selling spray paint, cans of paint, chalk paint, powder paint, dyes, colored clothing, pure liquefied color, food coloring, you name it. There were even plants of color. Someone had poured pure liquefied color into the base of the plant, making it grow with an electric green shine. The large, bright leaves grew in pots next to stalls. Other plants were tropical, with vibrant and glowing orange flowers. Their brilliance and color reminded me of Sytra. I smiled at the thought of my best friend. She'd love this.

People were scattered around, and in varying degrees of color. Some were completely covered head to toe, with multicolored clothes and painted skin. Others wore B.L.A.D.E. uniforms, with dark clothing trimmed with unique colors. Still others were a mix, with splashes here and there.

There was one thing that everything shared in common.

Every color was stunningly bright.

It surrounded the place, making everything shine. Every shade was out for attention. The beauty was a little shocking, and it let me ignore my pain for a second.

"How..?" I asked with little success. How could something so beautiful exist?

You haven't seen anything yet. A tiny voice whispered inside of me, like a wisp of my past. It seemed to hold a thousand secrets, and an entire past I knew nothing of.

The fact that there was a cute boy next to me shook me out of my thoughts. Dixter smiled at me, seeming to love my awestruck expression. It seemed to me that he found even more satisfaction in watching me because he was the one that brought me here.

"You like it?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I love it."

The color was astounding, and was spread thoroughly throughout the place. The very air seemed to radiate vibrance, like invisible electric waves of color.

What is this place?

"This is no paint shop." I said with a little laugh, elbowing Dixter in the side.

He laughed along with me. "No. This is much better."

I looked around in wonder. "This is a paint haven."

He walked out towards the center of the place. He turned around and spread his arms out wide, like a showman presenting to an audience. "Welcome to Color Central." His eyes sparkled, like this was the happiest he'd ever been.

I laughed at his act, the pain fading by the minute. The energy this place had seemed to heal me. Almost like I was meant to be here, where color was abundant and thrown about recklessly.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me along, something he couldn't do moments before because of my pain. I wondered if he knew that this place could heal.

I allowed him to lead me, laughing a little. He was so childish. I felt like a mother being pulled along by her excited 5-year-old at a flashy carnival.

"Here!" Dixter exclaimed. He stood proudly by a stall. "You'll like this one."

He was right. I did like it. It was a stall of artwork, with canvases and framed paper lining the walls. The artwork portrayed images of people throwing color into the air, people drawing power from their chests. There was even a piece that showed a young woman with a sword made of color.

"Are these inspired from real people?" I asked the stall keeper. He was an old man that sat hunched on a director's chair towards the back end of the stall. His feet were tucked under him, and he leaned forward on a cane. He had wisps of white hair that seemed seconds away from falling off. The skin around his eyes was wrinkled and sunken, but the light of wisdom in his eyes was unmistakable. "Yes, sweetheart. These are mere ghosts of the past, but at one point, they were very much alive."

The image haunted me. I liked the chill that crept up my back. "Amazing." I whispered, gently touching a painting. It was of a girl turning her color, bright blue, into a surging wave. It passed over the canvas like the ocean. It seemed alive, like actual water pouring over gray, weathered rocks.

"You know, girl," the old man said with a fading voice. "I can sense something in you." He studied my face. "Martyline?"

I shook my head. "No, that isn't my name. I'm Feckter," I paused, then whispered, "but my true name is Grace."

"Grace!" the old man exclaimed, jumping back into his chair. "So I do know you."

He paused, then looked me straight in the eye. "I knew your mother."

I froze. My mother? I looked at his face, into those deep eyes. What could this old man know about my family?

I cleared my throat. "As far as I know, I'm an orphan."

"Ah," The old man laughed. "Yes, I'm sure that's what you think." He had a mischievous look in his eyes, like he knew more about my past than I did. Like he'd known my family personally.

His behavior was bothering me. "C'mon Dixter," I said quietly, nudging him. "Let's go."

We walked out of the stall and kept going. I glanced back and found the old man looking at me, his knowing eyes glinting with amusement and secrets.

We moved on. The next stall sold powdered paint. There were shelves and shelves of it, in plastic bags, in bowls, even glass bottles. There was every shade, in every size, of every color. Rusty blood red, shining golden yellow, tropical lime green. Soft baby blue, violent deep purple, lipstick hot pink. A scruffy, skinny man was behind a table in the back, waiting for customers. He looked jumpy. We didn't go in.

The next stall held sculptures. Beautiful ceramic images lined glass shelves. More images of people throwing color, using weapons of color, drawing their color to energize the land. A lovely young woman sat behind a neat desk inside. She had a calming aura that told me she made ceramics for a living. Her eyes were large behind round glasses, her hair frizzy. She looked crazy and relaxed at the same time.

I was intrigued at the reappearance of art that portrayed people throwing color, but I worried about Dixter. He eyed the glass like he could break it just by being near it. The feeling that he'd be a bull in a china shop if we went in made me tug him along to the next stall.

The following stall made Dixter's eyes light up. The look on his face made me realize that he'd been bored out of his mind.

But this. This was something he could touch.

Rows upon rows of paint buckets sat neatly all around the stall. Spring leaf green, rich sapphire blue, hazy tulip purple. Honey glazed yellow, bright dragonfly orange, vibrant fire red.

All of the colors reflected in Dixter's wide eyes. He looked like a child staring in wonder at a massive toy shop.

He pulled me along. "Come on! I see your color!" I laughed and let him drag me for the second time that evening. He pulled me in front of the blues. They ranged from greenish seafoam to my brilliant teal to deep sea blue. Dixter pointed at the Caribbean teal that I adored. "There!"

I smiled and picked up the can. It had a picture of the white-capped crystal teal waves of the tropics.

My color.

I let my arm drop to my side, the can a comfortable weight at my side.

We strolled over to find Dixter's red. The section had an impressive range. It went from deep threatening red to soft orchid petal to subtle sunset peach.

I smiled. "There." I repeated his word, pointing to his bright red crab. He agreed with a smile. His can showed a picture of a beady-eyed beach crab.

His arm relaxed to his side, and we turned around to pay.

The woman at the counter seemed like the most sane person out of the four that we had met. She smiled in a way that made me feel all warm inside, like her mere presence could heal my soul. I wondered if this is what having a mother felt like.

Dixter started rummaging around in his pockets, looking for money.

I nudged him. "I got it," I pulled out ten katr. "Five each for two cans, right?" I asked the saleswoman.

"Yes." She smiled at me. Her spruce-colored hair was piled into a beautiful bun, her t-shirt was a pastel yellow. Her auburn glasses were rounded, adding another layer of kindness to her face.

I left the stall in a bit of a daze. She was like a wisp of a mother I never had.

With our cans in hand, we walked out to the middle of Color Central. Stalls surrounded us in a neat square, people milled about. It gave the place a chill vibe, and everyone was relaxed. Like everyone that was here was meant to be here, and it was a place without violence. It was truly a paint haven.

I saw streaks of color thrown about recklessly by the people that were here last. Paint splashes stained the ground, some old, some new. Tiny plants of color crept up from cracks in the concrete. They glowed with vibrance, reminding me of living lights. I saw shiny red mushrooms, little green sprouts, and mystical deep blue ferns. They all had pinpricks of light, making them shine.

Dixter smiled. "You know what time it is?" His eyes glinted with excitement. We faced each other in the middle of the square. Some people stopped and turned to watch.

I smirked. "I'm ready."

Simultaneously, we flicked open our paint buckets. We shoved our hands deep into our colors, not caring about staining our skin. Then we threw.

I tossed my teal up, shooting in a small curve. His red spread upwards into a wide arc, and our colors collided, making a burst of purple for a split second. Time slowed, and we looked into each others' eyes. Our flying colors emitted light for a fraction of a second, and our eyes reflected them. I caught a glimpse of what could be, and our eyes glowed. Color sparked around us for a millisecond. Then the whole paint show rained down on us, quickly ending the moment. The sparks died, the color fell, and the light in our eyes blinked out. People stared.

We stood in shock for a moment. I blinked, unsure of what just happened. Did I just see sparks? And were our eyes glowing?

Dixter cleared his throat to break the silence. People acted like nothing happened, walking and talking as normal.

"What.." I tried. "What just happened?" I managed.

He shrugged, clearly as shaken as I was. "I-I don't know. But let's get out of here."

I nodded, grabbed the Caribbean teal, and walked quickly. Dixter did the same with his paint can, and we left together. By the speed of his movement, I assumed he was as embarrassed as I was. Heat crawled up my neck at the thought of all of Color Central watching us, just staring into each others' eyes.

I shook my head to clear my mind. "Let's go home."

He nodded. "HQ sounds good," Dixter looked at me, his voice hopeful. "Maybe we can ask Chief about what happened."

"Yeah." I replied, pondering the thought. I had no idea what Chief knew, but I had a feeling she knew more than us. She was old enough to be my mother. She'd cared for me as long as I could remember, running B.L.A.D.E. smoothly with confidence. She had always been there for me.

We emerged onto the street. The speed-walking reminded me of my wounded calf. I looked down at the bandage. Blood had soaked through, but it looked dry. The color market's aura seemed to heal it. I no longer felt my pulse in my leg, and the pain was nearly gone. Now it was just a faint buzz in the background.

We pulled our sleeves up and shot our grapplers. It was a little hard using our grapplers with paint cans, but we managed. We got pulled onto the roof of the building over. We made our way over to headquarters, glancing around us as we went. We couldn't be tracked.

We stopped at the top of a high rise, standing side by side. Doing the fluid motion of using our grappling hooks seemed to clear our heads, and we forgot about what happened at Color Central. The sun was starting to rise, and the early marks of dawn streaked the sky.

Night was fading fast, and our time together was coming to a close. The sun meant it was time to return to our rooms in HQ.

He looked over at me, his face becoming more visible by the second. "Well, I had fun."

I gave a little laugh. "Yeah, me too."

We glanced at each other, then looked away. I'm pretty sure I was blushing. In the faint light of the waking city, I thought I saw some red rise to his cheeks.

HQ's entrance was in the building next to the skyscraper we were on. We dropped down into B.L.A.D.E. headquarters and disappeared from view just as the sun's light hit the building.

We dropped into a small alleyway in between two buildings. There were loose sheets of metal lying around, and one of them was marked. The B.L.A.D.E. logo was splattered onto the underside of one of the sheets.

We both knew which one it was, and went to grab it at the same time. Our hands touched, sending a spark of electricity up my arm. My heart skipped a beat, and we both jumped back a step. A blush bloomed onto my face. I couldn't see Dixter's because of the shadows of the alley, but his actions told me everything. He rubbed the back of his neck like an embarrassed schoolboy. My mind was racing at about a million thoughts an hour. The jumpy part in me wanted to run.

Dixter reached out and grabbed the sheet, revealing the entrance. He fumbled a little, then fixed his stance. "Ladies first."

I smiled, my face still flushed. "Thanks." I managed.

I walked in, ducking my head a little. The ceiling was low to conceal the agency better. Dixter came in behind me, pulling the sheet over the opening. With the light shut out, the tunnel thudded into darkness. The air got a little colder. I reached out to feel the concrete sides. A tiny light flickered at the end of the shadows.

It was a little nerve-racking to have my crush right behind me in complete and utter darkness, but it's fine. I'll be okay.

We kept going. Eventually, the tunnel emptied into a more spacious room. The blinking light illuminated a keypad. I entered the code, and the concrete wall outlined into a shape of a door. The solid rectangle sunk into itself, revealing another room. This time, modern-looking lights lined the ceiling. They were the same style as the lighting in the bar that I had met Sytra in. A heavy-duty door sat in the middle of the front wall. It looked as complicated and thick as a bank vault door. Two agents stood guard. Both men wore professional-looking black suits.

They nodded to us. "Agent Feckter. Agent Dixter."

"Agent Kelby. Agent Telturner." I nodded back. I saw Dixter nod to them each in turn in my peripheral vision. "Sirs."

They didn't bat an eye at our paint buckets. It was commonplace for B.L.A.D.E. members. They each pressed a button on the inside of their suit sleeve. The heavy-looking door churned pistons, unlocking itself. It swung open with a heavy click. It revealed a shiny modern elevator. Lights ran along the top, staying consistent with the style of the place.

We went in, our paint cans in hand. The heavy door shut behind us, and we could see all of its inner workings. Complicated metal parts made up this side of the door like the inside of a clock. Tubes, wires, pistons, you name it, we saw it.

Buttons lined one panel. There were numbers 1-50, all lit up. I didn't know how you could fit that many floors underground.

I pressed 2, and we got moving. As far as I knew, level 1 was just a massive storeroom. I guess with an agency as large as ours, you'd need a lot of storage.

We went down two floors. Dixter leaned casually against the backside of the elevator, his arms crossed. I leaned against the wall to my right, my head gently touching the cold steel. I closed my eyes. It was a simple sign of weariness, but I felt it down to my core. I hadn't stopped moving all night.

Dixter noticed. "Tired?"

"Yeah."

"I'm starting to feel it too. Tonight felt like forever." He looked at me.

And I'm so glad I got to spend it with you.

The elevator chimed a lovely note. The doors opened to a brightly light, bustling hallway. It was such a contrast to the dimly lit, silent hallway we'd just gone through. B.L.A.D.E. members moved about, some in a rush, others just casually strolling. Some agents were more important than others. Skill, weapons, experience. It was all pieces of the worth of each agent.

We dropped our paint buckets by the elevator doors. This was common, as people often left bits of color everywhere. Dixter and I rushed to get to Chief's office. Her office was on level 2, along with the offices of the other executives. The treasurers, the managers, and the coordinators. The agency's most important people all had offices here.

Chief's office was at the very end, marking her as important. Her heavy-looking dark oak door looked the same as all of the other executives. I knocked politely but urgently. A moment later, she opened the door.

Her Latina skin was nicely tanned, and her hair was a beautiful chestnut. Chief's eyes were a warm caramel, but her exhaustion had its toll. She had sunken bags under her eyes, and her wavy hair looked a little unkempt. Nevertheless, she was beautiful.

Chief smiled warmly, beckoning us inside with her hand. "Come in, please."

She always brought a motherly aura of comfort that always helped me calm down. It was such a relief to see her.

We walked in. Her office was dark, but not expensive. She made it clear that she was equal to the other executives. I admired her humility. She truly believed that no one should feel below her.

A large dark oak desk sat in the middle of the room. The surface of it was like glass, reflecting the room's lights. Black art hung around the room. Everything had a modern style to it. Two chairs made of dark oak sat in front of the desk. They had the same design as the desk.

It was custom for the Chief of B.L.A.D.E. have a standard black theme, as the uniform for the agency's members was black lined with a unique color. To have the Chief be everyone's color and no one's color at the same time was an ingenious idea.

She sat down at her desk. Chief leaned forward on her elbows, her hands folded underneath her chin. Her breath smelled of coffee. Her weary but excited eyes darted between us. "Tell me everything."

So we did. I started off with the factory and its machines of white liquid. When I mentioned the workers in white, she breathed in sharply. But she let me finish. When I got to the part about blowing up the warehouse, she looked relieved but unhappy.

"M.A.S.K." She growled.

"What mask?" Dixter asked.

"Not what. Who." She paused for a reaction, watching us. We were both equally confused, and I guess it showed on our faces, because she quickly continued. "Malicious Army of Skilled Killers. They're B.L.A.D.E.'s number one enemy. Our two agencies have a long history."

"What are they doing making illegal guns?" I asked, not sure I wanted the answer.

"They're probably for fighting us. M.A.S.K. has always wanted to best us. They go out and do sketchy projects like the one you two destroyed. They do it for money and for making weapons. There's been talk of a war coming." She paused and rubbed the bridge of her nose, looking completely worn out. "That cursed agency is always B.L.A.D.E.'s biggest threat."

I felt so sorry for her. "That sounds stressful."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Yes. It is."

"But we have bigger problems than my lack of sleep. M.A.S.K. is planning on starting a war, this much I'm sure. Especially if they have projects like that one churning out weapons. They're planning something, and it's gonna be big."

I smiled. "Unless we hit them first."

She looked at me appreciatively. I guess she could use any amount of optimism. She nodded. "Unless we hit them first. Which is why I've been coming up with a plan. Well, a lot of plans."

She stood, her chair scooting back. She pressed her thumb on the surface of her desk. The desk's glass top acknowledged her fingerprint and projected up a very tall and very intimidating skyscraper. It seemed to be about a thousand stories tall, white as snow. Its color was tinted blue because of the projection, but it looked threatening all the same. It seemed as dangerous and cold as ice.

A hologram. I loved it when her desk did that, even if it was a hologram of a massive, intimidating skyscraper.

"This is M.A.S.K.'s headquarters. Scary, I know. I've been coming up with some plans."

She went on to explain Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, Plan D, Plan E... and didn't really stop. She explained where every important M.A.S.K. member's office was. She pointed out every detail on the skyscraper, what we could use to win. With every gesture, her weariness grew more clear. It was clear that she'd been at this for too long. The threat to her agency was really taking a toll on her.

I stopped her. "Chief."

She looked up at me with those tired eyes.

"You've been doing this for too long, and it's clearly stressing you out. Let's just go with the best plan, and train for that. We'll use the rest as backups. Okay?" I put as much reassurance into my voice as I could.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. We'll use the best plan." She sat back in her chair, her messy but beautiful hair swinging back.

"I'm thinking C. The best B.L.A.D.E. agents, a team of ten, go after the president. We go in undetected using the building's air vents," I pointed to the vents inside the skeleton of the building.

"We disable the cameras in the elevators and take them to the top," I say, flicking the hologram. The tiny elevators made of light dim, symbolizing that the cameras are out. I pull them upwards using my finger. The dimmed elevators follow my finger to the top of M.A.S.K. HQ, all the way to the office of its president.

"We take out the president of M.A.S.K. When he's knocked out cold, the entire agency will fall apart. With no leader, every enemy agent will start going wild. They try to find us, and when they do, we kill them on the way down. Once we give the signal that the president is dead, the rest of the B.L.A.D.E. agents charge from the ground up. We meet in the middle. When the two sides of B.L.A.D.E. meet up, we'll know we've won."

I paused, and looked both of them in the eye. "We'll need our most deadly weapons, our most honed skills, and our most talented agents."

"We have to put the entire agency into this attack. If we do this, we go full out. There's no backing out once we commit," I said, my tone dead serious. "And when we're sure, we have to announce it to the entire agency as soon as possible."

Chief nodded. "You're right. Your plan is good. But we need the best. I think we need an agency meeting."

I nodded. "It's for the best. We need to hear voices other than mine."

"I agree. I'll schedule one for tomorrow. We need the other executives, and our top agents." Chief eyed us, raising a hand and pointing two fingers at us."Especially you two."

Dixter looked surprised. "But what did I do? I just watched you two plan an ambush, no sweat."

I smiled at him. "We need people as skilled as you in the field. When I watched you take everyone out in that warehouse while I was sitting there bleeding, I knew you were one of the best."

I didn't know what was happening. Maybe it was because I felt powerful from planning the destruction of our enemy. I looked him in the eye. "You're skilled, Dix. One of B.L.A.D.E.'s top agents."

He looked at me with wide eyes. He was acting like he'd never gotten praise like that before. His face reddened a little, and he stumbled through his words. "Wow.. um. Thanks."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, but there were more important things to discuss. "Chief, tonight, Dixter and I went to Color Central. Have you heard of it?"

She laughed a little. "Yes, yes. How could the Chief of B.L.A.D.E. not know of the best color market around?"

I smiled in return. "Yes, I guess you'd know. Anyways. We bought some paint and started throwing it, and when our colors collided in the air, something.. strange happened. When the two colors mixed, a purple burst in the sky. Time kind of slowed down, and our eyes were glowing, and there were little sparks around us, and.. I don't really know what happened." I shook my head, my face heating up from remembering that moment. All those eyes staring at us.

Chief's face looked a little pale. "Yes, that.. phenomenon.. used to happen to our ancestors. It, um.." She cleared her throat. "It was usually the color reacting to two soulmates."

Our faces turned bright red. The tips of his ears matched his face. Heat spread up my neck.

"Oh.. um. I see." I coughed into my fist. "Well, we should probably get to bed. It's been a long night." I said quickly, rushing my words. I needed to get out of here.

"Yes, yes, go. The sun is past risen." She said, watching us stand and make our way over to the door. "See you tomorrow night for the meeting!" She exclaimed as the door closed.

Dixter was next to me again as we speed walked away from an embarrassing situation for the second time all evening. And morning, I guess.

Oh my god, the elevator. To get to our rooms, we'd have to survive the elevator. Down 18 stories.

We grabbed our paint buckets and stepped inside the Elevator of Embarrassing Torture. I almost sat down from the exhaustion, the faint throbbing of my wounded leg, and from pure embarrassment. Somehow, I kept my cool. I pressed level 42. A girl's dorm floor.

Dixter pressed 20, his floor. The elevator moved painfully slowly. We stood in the same positions as earlier. He leaned back, and I stood to the side. Awkward silence filled the small space.

I looked at him, desperate to break the tension. "I.. I really meant what I said. You're really skilled. I don't know if I would have made it out of there alive if you weren't there."

He smiled, and I couldn't help being reminded of his attractiveness. His messy dark caramel hair fell perfectly around his face. "Thanks."

He looked into my eyes. "I'm just glad you're okay. How's your leg?"

"Fine. For some reason, I feel like Color Central healed it. I can't explain it."

"Yeah, that's a little odd." He said, the question in his voice.

"How are your hands?"

"They're not too bad. I think I'll keep the tape on. Just to look intimidating."

I laughed. It was so like him.

My laugh seemed to charm him. "About.. what happened in Chief's office.."

"Oh.. yeah," My face heated up. "Do you really think we're soulmates?" I whispered, looking down.

He reached over and took my hand, gently making me face him. He looked into my eyes, moving his face closer to mine. I got lost in their depths. Up close, they were a mix of swirling dark colors.

"Only if you love me back."

My lips parted. Is this a dream?

He bent down and kissed me, and the world disappeared. We dropped our paint cans at the same time. They thunked against the ground, but the sound was a million miles away. He brought a hand up to the side of my face, and I put my hands on his neck. Heat spread from my face to my neck. He put his other hand on the small of my back. I got lost in him.

We broke apart when the elevator chimed. His floor.

"Wow.." I said, breathless. Our noses were touching.

The doors opened. There were a few random boys in the hallway, but he didn't seem to care.

He couldn't help himself. He kissed me one last time, then we reluctantly pulled away. He bent down and picked up his paint bucket, his eyes on me.

He smiled, his face red, matching the dyed ends of his hair. "Goodnight, Feckter."

"Night, Dix."

I smiled. The elevator doors closed. The last thing I saw was his face.

I leaned back against the wall. So he loved me this whole time.

I couldn't believe it. All of the times he'd blushed, every moment that we'd had. It was all real. I hadn't imagined any of it.

Suddenly, the right wall of the elevator blinked on. Chief's satisfied face appeared.

"Chief?" I exclaimed, taking a step back. I had no idea the elevator could do that.

"Well done, agent. I've been shipping you two since you entered my office."

"You watched us??" I practically screamed. "This elevator's bugged?"

"Of course! How else would I have known if my two best agents were going to kiss? Especially after telling you that you were bound to be soulmates?"

I was almost mad, but more embarrassed. It felt like someone interrupting your date.

"Ugh. Get out of here. If you're going to embarrass me, at least let me do it alone." I waved my hand, figuring that's how you turned it off. My face was still red.

The last thing I saw of Chief was her amused smile. Then the wall flickered off.

The doors opened. I stumbled down the hallway of floor 42, making my way to my room. I got my keys out from yet another pocket in my jacket. I opened the door and dragged myself through the dorm. I swung open my bedroom door and collapsed on my bed, the paint can thudding onto the ground.