Blue Windows, Quiet Halls

Creative Crayon Fortress sat in the center of Super Forest City like a dark toy block, all black walls and blue windows, with four blue crayon towers pointing up.

Creative Crayon Doe padded down a glossy hallway, her light blue cape swishing behind her. Her glowing blue eyes reflected in the windows as drones hummed past.

“Home,” she said, and tapped her phone to unlock her studio door.

Inside, her charging stand was empty.

She blinked once. Then twice.

“Nope. No. Uh-uh.” She opened drawers, checked behind a chair, even looked under a neat stack of sketch pads.

Her giant glowing blue crayon was gone.

She called the security desk.

Buckley’s face filled the screen. “Ma’am, the cameras show you left with it at six.”

“I was on the roof at six,” she said.

Her phone buzzed again. A downtown post loaded: a shaky video of someone in a blue cape dragging a giant blue crayon across a billboard wall

Blue Smears

Buckley’s face stayed on her screen as she strode into the elevator.

“Check the tower halls,” he said.

“Later,” she said. “I’m going downtown.”

The fortress doors slid open to a wet, drizzly morning. Her hooves clicked onto the street, and her cape darkened at the edges.

Two blocks later, her phone buzzed with the same clip—now with comments.

SHE’S DOING IT AGAIN.

Creative Crayon Doe reached the billboard and stopped short. Blue marks ran down the wall in long tears, making fat puddles on the sidewalk.

A human woman with short dark hair leaned out of a shoe shop door, holding a half-finished sneaker.

“She drew shoeprints,” the woman said. “Big ones. Like stomping art. Then she took off when the drones yelled.”

“I didn’t—” Doe started.

A city drone dipped low. Its camera eye whirred.

“IDENTITY MATCH,” it said. “CREATIVE CRAYON DOE. UNAUTHORIZED MARKING.”

Phones around the corner pinged at once.

Buckley called back, voice tight. “Ma’am, the fortress just locked down. It thinks you’re the problem.”