Hidden Within

It was the blistering heat of summer and in his apartment, the hacker watched the computer screens, one was on the ginger artist, and the other was a Program full of notes and data of the artist's criminal past.

She had not been convicted on any of the crimes she committed, but the hacker knew she had done it all, he had seen it. The artist had covered her crimes in paintings or sculptures or other art pieces. One time he saw her carving a sculpture around an actual dead body, which was then displayed in a family-friendly museum. Another time, she had used real blood as paint, that painting sold in a showcase focused on freedom and innocence.

The hacker was supposed to report the artist when he saw these crimes committed, but he didn't have the heart to report her, after all, the art she created was intriguing, he couldn't help but admire the criminal concealed by creativity.

But selling and displaying her art was put on hold ever since the virus broke out and everyone went into quarantine. The artist put on a face mask designed with the painting of Edvard Munich's The Scream and she walked out her bedroom door, grabbing a bag.

The hacker switched into the city cameras and watched her walk down the street, plagued around the people with masks, all walking six feet apart. Quarantine had lasted five years now, it was 2050, and the health care and governments of the world decided violence and dictatorship would control the outcome of the virus and protect the most lives. In all the attempts, this virus that had wiped out half the population.

He was almost worried for her safety whenever she went out for more supplies, criminal, or art-related. It was a risk he knew she would take to continue her art. Since quarantine, she had been crafting art every day. She had run out of space in her apartment and had to start putting her art around the city, where it was quickly destroyed.

The hacker focused back on her movements. She moved swiftly and carefully, making sure to avoid the sick and the armed militia every few feet. While watching her, he could not help to lose his thoughts again about the plague.

At the beginning of the virus, some activists suggested that letting it free and not controlling the virus would solve the overpopulation in the world. Other activists took heavy stands on wiping it out entirely and saving every life possible. The division caused major governments to crumble and fall into dictatorship. The hacker and artist never took a public stance.

After that collapse, health care was decided by the government and the government became the force of God in deciding who lived and died. Militias ran the streets and there were no trials anymore, if you were seen committing a crime, you were taken to the holding pins, and the next day, you were executed.

With the increased government control, a "surveillance" Program was put in place for past or potential criminals. The Program rounded up every hacker they could find and forced them to stalk the potential threats. So, the hacker was assigned to the criminal artist.

The artist figured out a hacker was watching her when her computer had shut off suddenly when she started to change clothes. The hacker knew better than to watch her, he may have been stalking her, but he respected her physical privacy.

After figuring it out, the artist knew it should have bothered her that she had a stalker and was being monitored, but for some odd reason, she was not affected by it. It had been years since she had a human connection, and this was her only chance at it. The hacker had seen her commit crimes, but he did not report her, and that was all the reassurance the artist needed.

And so, the artist and the hacker started communicating through paintings. She would pull up a famous painting on the computer and the hacker would investigate the meaning of the painting or just look at it and know what the artist was saying. Then, he would send back a painting in response. They had plenty to work with, and in five years of quarantine, the artist kept sending harder pieces for the hacker to decipher. It became a past time for them, between him monitoring the artist, and the artist committing crimes to make art. Their relationship became unique, and every day, the hacker became more affectionate with the artist. In their special communication, the Program could not track that they were interacting.

The hacker focused his attention back onto the city cameras and the artist. She hurried down an alley and snuck into a rotting black door. The hacker started worrying, she never came out of that door without some injury. Most of the time after she came out, she would turn off her electricity for days and the hacker could not get in no matter what he tried.

It was an agonizing ten minutes of waiting until the artist walked out of the door without any visible injuries. The hacker zoomed in on her bag and saw a bulge and then a thrust, something was alive. The artist hurried home and when she was back in her room, the artist opened her bag and a grey cat jumped out.

The hacker laughed, all pets were banned from the world, they were thought to host the virus and infect people, but everyone knew that was irrational, the governments just wanted to keep its citizens depressed and easily manipulated. The artist smiled at her computer and snuggled up with the cat.

So that's what was inside that place? An illegal trading post for pets. The hacker smiled at her happiness, seeing her happy is what kept him going in the darkness of his apartment.

An incoming video call interrupted the hacker's small burst of happiness. The hacker entered a password and the boss of the Program covered his screens. The hacker couldn't tell who it was, man or woman, old or young; the boss always wore a mask and a hood, with the voice distorted into a mix of man and woman.

"The target has not been executed, what is the problem Agent 78941?"

78941 seared into the hacker's brain, that was his name to the program, that is what they knew him by, nothing but a number. He had to get free of them, he couldn't keep distancing himself from the artist.

"There has been no activity suggesting she is a threat."

"You have been known to fail on suspects. Do not forget what happened last time, she was killed because of your failure. If you fail again, you will be executed alongside the target." The boss grunted and the video call was terminated, leaving the hacker watching the artist play with the illegal cat.

The next day, the artist ran into her room and sat in front of the mirror, she had boxes of hair dye and brushes and cups. The hacker smiled; she may have been good with paints, but hair was not her specialty. It was about a half-hour of the girl dying her hair and the boy watching the catastrophe happen. The heat of the summer did not help either, her hair was soaked in sweat, just like his own.

In a few hours and a shower later, the artist had badly dyed blue hair, the hacker burst out in laughter. He was certain that the hair dye was bought illegally, and the artist just ruined her beautiful ginger hair with it. She gave a wonky smile and sent over a painting.

The hacker clicked on the link to see the Picasso painting Woman with a Hairnet, a portrait of a woman with blue hair in a hairnet, her skin was paper white and her face was what you could call, confused or strange. A perfect painting for the current situation the artist was in.

The hacker and artist stared at their screens for a while, knowing the other was on the opposite side, so far and yet so close. Aside from the Program rules of distance, regular people could never touch or meet, that was illegal now. And yet, the summer heat made the artist and hacker embrace in a digital love that could never be broken. But her role was a criminal that was supposed to be caught, and he was an undercover hacker that should report her. But if they followed their roles, they would be forever separated. By death and by loneliness.

He took a moment to search for paintings while she was cleaning up her room. He soon found The Lovers II by René Magritte. It was a painting of a man and woman, leaning in for a kiss, but both their faces were covered in a cloth. The cloth prevented the kiss and forced them to become separated, it was suffocating them, they were forever apart and prevented from the intimate relations they so desperately earned.

The artist sat down and clicked on the painting. She gasped and smiled sadly, a few tears traveled down her cheek and she gazed at the camera screen. He had just professed his love for her, trying to break the barrier of their situation.

She sat looking at the painting for a few minutes, and then she sent The Kiss by Edvard Munch. It centralized on a man and woman kissing, their faces merged in one. The background is dark and gloomy, with a sliver of light into the outer world, making the lovers the central focus. It represented a unity together, with the threatening risk of death, a thought that the artist and hacker knew could come. The artist sent her love back to him.

After the five years in quarantine and a government collapse, the hacker and the artist finally professed their love to each other and set a date to meet in the broken world. It was illegal, but that was the nature of their relationship.

In two days, they would meet on her rooftop and embrace the love that they had to hide from the world. Both the hacker and artist wanted to meet sooner, but there were going to be apartment checks tomorrow and they could not risk meeting when the militia was around.

Before the hacker went to sleep that night, he saw the artist rush out of her apartment. The next morning, she came back and avoided her room all day. A million worries ran through the hacker's mind: Why was she panicked? What happened? Why was she avoiding him? Is she hurt? The militia must have figured out she was a criminal; they must have targeted her. How could she be so foolish? 

The hacker paced around his apartment restlessly until the militia came for the apartment checks. The militia cleared him and thankfully, didn't see his hidden room with the surveillance cameras. Although, he hadn't seen the militia check the artist's apartment that day, which made him worry even more. Maybe that's why she was worried, she somehow knew the militia wasn't coming that day.

The next day, their meeting day, the hacker turned off the screen while the artist was getting ready, he wanted to be surprised. But based on her actions yesterday and the lack of her apartment check, he kept the sound on, just in case.

It was an hour later when he was about to leave when he heard a scream from the computer, the hacker rushed over to turn it on. He watched in helpless shock as the militia stormed the artist's apartment, they tore her paintings apart and searched everything. The artist rushed to the computer, hitting a button and sending the hacker one last painting before she was knocked out and collapsed on the floor. They drug her limp body out the door and treated her like a bag of garbage that needed taking out.

The hacker rushed out of his apartment, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't fight off a militia, they would come for him next, they had to right? But he couldn't sit back and let his love die, he ran over to the artists' apartment and in the debris, he found a gun lying on the floor. He picked it up and walked to her computer, he clicked on the last painting and last message the artist would ever send him.

It was The Invention of Life by René Magritte. Two women, side by side, the left eerily staring at the viewer and the right, covered with a gray fabric. One was life and the other, death. The artist knew this was coming, and she didn't tell him.

The hacker broke down and started crying over her computer, he had lost his love, the only woman that saw him behind the screen, his only life connection. He looked down at the gun.

Despite being taken, the artist came home the next day, the militia had taken the wrong person, she had escaped. She happily walked to her bedroom to send another painting and let the hacker know she was okay. But she walked in to find the hacker dead, gun in his hand, blood pooled on the floor. There was a picture of the Checkmate by René Magritte on the computer. It showcased a boy with a gun to the head in a checkered room and a chess piece falling over. The artist stood in shock as she realized the only person in the world who saw her was gone. She walked to her window, ten stories up and she felt gravity pulling her down as she leaped into the summer air.

The lovers never met before their quarantine was over.