“See you tomorrow!” 

Piyumi let out a breath of relief when the last two members of the school’s staff finally slammed their car doors shut and drove out of the parking lot, comforted by the fact she would be able to roam the grounds of her high school without running into anyone. The cleaners weren't coming in today either, so she was free to stay as long as she pleased. 

Taking out Issue #54 of The Misadventures of Miss Adventures from her backpack, Piyumi plonked herself under the large oak tree in the courtyard. When her stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl, she pulled out half of a slightly browning apple from her pocket. She stopped just as she was about to take a bite, her mind flashing to the refrigerator at home. She could see the inside of it clearly — cases and cases of beer and absolutely nothing else.

Piyumi looked down at the fruit in her hand. Okay, if she ate half of it now, she could save the other half for breakfast tomorrow. Her stomach whined in protest, but she ignored it. If she was hungry now, then she was going to ravenous in the morning. She would be thankful later. 

Still, that didn’t stop her from feeling a little sad when her dinner was gone three measly three bites later. “Maybe Thatha went shopping,” she tried to comfort herself with the thought, but she knew it was a longshot. 

Pushing down her hunger, Piyumi laid herself on the grass and flipped her comic open. She almost forgot about the panging in her stomach as she was filled with a rush of excitement. This particular issue began in the middle of one of Miss Adventures’ cases, with the infamous detective finding herself in a bind, quite literally, as she was tied to a chair with a bundle of sturdy rope. The situation seemed dire, with intimidating henchman stationed at every possible exit and the villain letting out a cackle as they revelled in their victory.

But Miss Adventures had a plan. Miss Adventures always had a plan. 

Piyumi grinned as the detective managed to somehow escape out of her seemingly impossible predicament with confident ease. Much of the context was lost on her as, despite her great efforts to do so, Piyumi had yet to get her hands on another issue in the series. Even so, the sight of her beloved Miss Adventures kicking ass with nothing but wit and cunning always captured her full attention, which was perhaps why she failed to notice the approaching trio of older teenagers until they had ripped the comic from her hands. 

Piyumi sprang to her feet. “Hey! Give that back!” 

“Heh, look! The little pipsqueak is trying to give us orders,” the boy who had grabbed her comic book jeered as his two friends shook with voracious laughter. He carelessly tossed the issue to a member of his posse before leaning down and reaching around Piyumi’s head to thread his fingers through her ponytail. 

“Interesting hair you’ve got there,” the boy gave her a chilling smile. “I wonder if it’s natural- ow!” 

The kick to his nuts was clumsy, but it did the trick nonetheless. The boy yowled in pain and released his grip on Piyumi to cup his smarting nethers instead. Piyumi knew that she should’ve run, she really did, but the sight of her beloved comic being manhandled was too much to bear. She charged at the girl who had the issue in her grasp, her fingers just managing to brush against the comic before she crumpled to the floor when a knee slammed into her abdomen. 

“What should we do with her, Damien?” the girl sneered, while the third member of their party — another girl —hoisted Piyumi up to her feet. 

Damien gnashed his teeth as he glowered at Piyumi, The thirteen-year-old steadily returned his glare — that is, until his eyes flickered towards the girl beside her and a sinisterly triumphant smile spread across his face. 

“The Misadventures of Miss Adventures, huh?” he said mockingly, using one hand to grab the issue from his friend and the other to pull out a witchblade from his pocket. “What a fucking joke.” 

Piyumi felt herself crumble. “Please. Don’t,” she whispered. 

Each swipe of the knife to Issue #54 of The Misadventures of Miss Adventures was like a slash to her heart. Jagged pieces of the comic slowly fluttered to the ground like snow as Damien sauntered towards Piyumi, his switchblade pointed towards her threateningly. 

“Are you going to cry for your hair too?” he hummed, digging his knife where the beginning of Piyumi’s ponytail met her scalp. “Go on. Beg.” 

He threw his head back and laughed, but he jerked to a stop when he felt a second hand curl around the handle of his switchblade. 

“Do it,” the tears streaming down Piyumi’s face somehow made the growl in her voice all the more menacing. “This is all her doing anyway! Fucking do it!” 

And that was the truth of the matter, wasn’t it? If she hadn’t left, her father wouldn’t have found solace in a bottomless pit of booze and Piyumi wouldn’t have been left to fend for herself. If she hadn’t broken her promise to return, Piyumi wouldn’t have to ration a fucking apple of all things as if she were in the midst of war. If she hadn’t set foot in Other Realm, she wouldn’t have met Miyuru, and Piyumi wouldn’t have been born and she wouldn’t have to suffer.

Surprise lit up Damien’s features for a second, but his sneer was restored in a flash. He raised the switchblade over his head, the blade glinting as the rays of the setting sun hit the metal and then- 

THWACK! 

“Motherfucker!” Damien screeched, his switchblade dropping to the grass as he cradled his hand. “Who the fuck-” 

He stopped and his eyes widened. Piyumi’s head whipped towards the owner of the outstretched leg that had belted the knife from Damien’s grasp. Her saviour, who looked to be about eighteen-years-old, had wavy honey-blonde hair and arms inked with cascading swirls of black. She gave Piyumi a fleeting glance before she drew her leg back in and firmly planted her expressionless gaze on Damien once more. The back of the white trench coat resting over her shoulders was emblazoned with a giant stylized ‘M’ and it billowed as a gust of wind blew past, causing a shiver to zigzag down Piyumi’s spine.

“The White Terror of Morpheus,” the girl holding Piyumi in place gasped, looking equal parts mystified and nervous. Piyumi took the chance to quickly stumble away when the grip on her shoulder loosened, but her captor took no action to go after her. Instead she met Damien’s gaze for a moment and then gave a sidelong glance to her other friend, a tacit agreement flying between their eyes. The two girls took a few steps back, carefully gauging the so-called ‘White Terror’ for a reaction like a rabbit would a fox. The White Terror, however, had eyes for one person and one person only. Her unsettlingly blank gaze bored into Damien like a drill and she made no move to follow the girls when they turned and bolted from the scene. 

“What do you want?” Damien hissed out between clenched teeth, his trembling hands betraying the confidence he was so desperate to display. “Why are you here?” 

The White Terror just continued to look at Damien with half-lidded eyes, hands casually resting in the pockets of her jeans as she closed the gap between them. God, she looked almost bored. 

“We know you took that money, Damien Biggs,” when the White Terror finally spoke, Piyumi noticed that her voice had a raspy quality to it, as if gravel lined her throat. “I’m here to get it back.” 

Damien stilled. Despite being a head taller than the girl, he looked like a gazelle who had unwittingly stumbled into a lion’s den.  “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

The White Terror’s eyes shifted to Piyumi. “Do you have it? Is that why he was attacking you?” 

“I, uh, no,” Piyumi squeaked out, startled at the sudden acknowledgment of her presence. The White Terror trained her attention back onto Damien. 

“Give me the money, Biggs. Now.” 

Piyumi saw Damien’s jaw lock as a particularly stupid brand of determination suddenly flashed across his face. Dropping to the ground, he reached towards the switchblade he had dropped-

There was a crunch — slight, like the crush of an autumn leaf, and so quiet, Piyumi would’ve easily missed it if she hadn’t been so fixated on the scene before her. What wasn’t slight or quiet, however, was the ear-piercing scream Damien let out when he suddenly found the bones in his fingers shattered underneath the weight of the White Terror’s heeled boot. 

Piyumi stepped away from the absolute slaughter the White Terror was raining down on Damien to collect the ripped pieces of her comic. The teenage boy’s defiant curses at his assailant slowly morphed into desperate pleas as the White Terror battered bruises into his body as if she were kicking around a soccer ball. Piyumi knew that she probably should’ve felt bad for him. As she looked down at the shredded comic in her hands though, a sense of vindication bloomed in her chest as blood sprayed from Damien’s from his mouth with each punt to his chest. 

Look who’s begging now.

With one last curbstomp to his face, Damien fell silent. The White Terror left bloody shoe prints in her wake as she walked to Piyumi’s crouched form. 

“You okay?” 

Piyumi flinched and looked up. Although she'd saved her, Piyumi suddenly realised the girl before her was far more dangerous than the trio of teenagers combined. Even she had heard whispers of the White Terror being passed around, of the girl who wore a flowing white trench coat like a cape as she lay waste to those standing in her way. She had chalked her up as an urban legend, but the tangle of bloody limbs Damien had been reduced to convinced her that the rumours were actually quite tame in comparison. 

“I’m fine,” Piyumi mumbled, her hands full of comic fragments as she rose to a stand.  “Um, please don’t hurt me, White Terror ma’am, sir, madam.” 

The White Terror let out a grunt. Piyumi thought she detected a hint of amusement in the sound but she couldn’t be sure. 

“Mylene Carter.” 

Tentatively, Piyumi met her eyes. The White Terror’s face was perfectly devoid of emotion as her slender, bloodied fingers sparked a lighter and lit the cigarette in her mouth. 

“That’s my name.” 

“Um, okay. That’s…nice?” Piyumi said, her head swimming at the sheer absurdity of this girl attempting to exchange pleasantries with her as if she hadn’t just beaten someone half to death. “I’m, uh, Piyumi Perera.” 

Mylene hummed, taking a quick puff of her cigarette. “And what are you still doing here, Perera? School hours have long since ended.” 

Piyumi averted her gaze and swallowed hard. “I…I can’t go home.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Piyumi’s mind flashed to her father, who was most likely passed out on the couch again after a day of non-existent job hunting. She felt her anger reignite. Porous and bubbling and hot. As if magma had become a substitute for her blood, her veins set aflame by a single and terrible denominator that strangled every aspect of her life like a vice. 

“My mother left when I was just a baby,” Piyumi felt like she was on fire, “and you know what, my father may as well have too, ‘coz he’s not here. He’s not anywhere! That house is dull, and lifeless, and empty and I can’t! I can’t do it anymore! I CAN’T!” 

With that final shout, she threw down the comic pieces in her hands. They fluttered down to the grass gently, as if they were mocking the frustration welling in her chest, the racing thump of her heart.

Mylene didn’t say a word. She just ran her eyes up and down Piyumi’s form. Appraising. Calculating. “Well, then,” she finally said after a while, a sliver of understanding on her otherwise blank face. “Come with me, Perera.”