Chapter One

I was raised to be generic. Born that way. But on the third day of the second quarter I'm starting to think that's not who I really am. I diagnose the things computers can't see. The moods they don't understand just yet. Usually it's to help investigate or solve a problem, but almost always it's nothing just a mistake, nothing worth reporting.

That is until several pieces of "art" start showing up around the districts, scribbled on walls, vehicles, even the side of an elementary school. These "art makers" aren't going to stop until they are caught, but neither will I.