Mira's POV
The cold liquid hit my head first.
I gasped as thick paint poured down my face, into my eyes, my nose, my mouth. But it wasn't just paint. Something else mixed with it—something that smelled like rotting food and garbage juice. Chunky, slimy things slid down my hair and onto my shoulders.
"Got her!" someone shouted.
Laughter exploded around me. Not just giggles—loud, cruel laughter that bounced off the walls of the student center.
I wiped my eyes, trying to see. The world was a blurry mess of colors and shapes. Through the paint, I could make out phones. Dozens of phones. All pointing at me like weapons.
"This is gold!" a girl squealed. "I'm posting this right now!"
My hands shook as I tried to wipe more paint off my face. It was sticky and thick, like someone had mixed glue with it. The garbage smell made my stomach turn. I could feel something squishy in my hair—was that a banana peel?
"Oh my God, look at her face!" another voice called out.
More laughter. It felt like knives cutting into my chest.
I stood frozen in the middle of the room. Students crowded around me in a circle, their phones still recording. Some were laughing so hard they were crying. Others just stared with their mouths open, like they couldn't believe what they were seeing.
"Please," I whispered, but my voice came out so quiet that nobody heard.
Someone bumped into me from behind, and I stumbled forward. Paint dripped from my clothes onto the floor, making puddles of purple and green. A piece of something wet and brown fell from my shoulder and landed with a splat.
That's when I saw her.
Victoria stood at the edge of the crowd, her phone in her hand. She wasn't laughing like the others. She was smiling—a small, satisfied smile that made my blood run cold. Our eyes met for just a second, and she lifted her phone higher, making sure to get a good shot.
"Move!" I tried to push through the crowd, but they blocked my way, still filming, still laughing.
"Wait, do it again!" someone yelled. "I missed the beginning!"
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. I needed to get out. I needed to breathe. But everywhere I turned, there were more phones, more faces, more laughter.
Finally, I spotted a gap in the crowd and ran for it.
"She's running away!" someone shouted, and the laughter got even louder.
I burst through the doors of the student center and into the bright afternoon sun. The light hurt my paint-covered eyes, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. My feet carried me across the campus lawn, past students who turned to stare, past benches where groups pointed and whispered.
Behind me, I heard phones pinging and buzzing. The video was already spreading.
I ran past the library, past the cafeteria, past the parking lot. Paint left a trail behind me like I was a wounded animal. My backpack bounced against my spine with each step, and my shoes squished from all the liquid soaking through my clothes.
"Hey, isn't that the girl from the video?" I heard someone say.
I ran faster.
The campus gates appeared ahead, and I didn't slow down until I was through them and onto the city sidewalk. Cars honked as I crossed the street without looking. A taxi driver yelled something out his window, but his words got lost in the rushing sound in my ears.
I walked and walked. My legs moved on their own, taking me away from campus, away from the phones, away from the laughter. The sun beat down on my head, making the paint smell even worse. People on the street moved away from me, holding their noses, staring with disgusted looks.
Hours passed. The sun started to sink lower in the sky, painting everything orange and red. My feet hurt. My eyes hurt from crying—though I couldn't tell where the tears stopped and the paint started.
I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't go back.
The buildings around me started to change. The nice shops and cafes disappeared. Broken windows appeared instead. Graffiti covered the walls. The sidewalk cracked under my feet, and weeds grew through the concrete.
The sun dropped below the horizon, and shadows stretched across the empty streets like dark fingers reaching for me.
That's when I realized I had walked all the way to the warehouse district.
Everyone at school talked about this place. "Don't go there after dark," they always said. "Bad things happen in the warehouses." But I had been so lost in my own pain that I hadn't paid attention to where my feet were taking me.
Tall, abandoned buildings surrounded me on all sides. Their empty windows looked like dead eyes staring down. Rusted metal doors hung off their hinges. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, and the sound echoed off the concrete walls.
I should turn back. I should find a bus stop or call someone or—
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
With shaking hands, I pulled it out. The screen was cracked and covered in paint, but I could still see the notifications flooding in.
One hundred messages.
Two hundred messages.
Three hundred messages.
They kept coming, faster and faster. My phone buzzed so much it felt like it was vibrating apart in my hand.
I opened the first message. It was from a number I didn't recognize.
"Saw your video. You're disgusting."
The next one: "LOL she deserved it."
Another: "Paint girl! Paint girl!"
My hands went numb. The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the concrete.
That's when I heard footsteps.
Not regular footsteps—these were slow, deliberate, coming from somewhere in the darkness between the warehouses. The sound of shoes scuffing against broken glass.
"Hello?" My voice came out as a croak.
The footsteps stopped.
I held my breath, listening. Five seconds passed. Ten. Fifteen.
Then the footsteps started again, closer this time.
A shadow moved at the end of the alley—tall and dark, separating itself from the other shadows. It was the shape of a person, but I couldn't see their face. They just stood there, watching me.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Run. I needed to run. But my legs had turned to stone.
The shadow took a step forward, into a patch of dim streetlight.
And I saw who it was.