A/N: Finally I'm getting my plans pulled off. So, you may be confused as to what exactly is going on here. Well, in the last chapter of Meiun: Goddess of Doom, Meiun has a memory of two little girls being by her side after she had gotten hurt, and now that they've been mildly introduced by Meiun, I can start off their stories. So this will end up being a triangle and updates will come as they are needed. I know this one took me a long time, and that's mostly because I wasn't quite sure where I wanted Whisper to start off at. She's very much out of my element in writing (a drug addiction is nothing I had ever even imagined writing about until Whisper came along) and therefore I wanted to proceed with caution. Whisper is also a very different character from Meiun, and I think she'll probably be a lot harder for readers to relate with until the bigger reveals come along much later in the fic, but I'm hoping you guys will like her all the same. Next I plan on getting my first chapter done for "Hibiki: Goddess of Sound" and then an update will be coming for Meiun once more.

Also, there was a question asked in reviews for Meiun that I'd like to address. Someone asked if these would be following the same lines as the original, and I plan to keep them that way to some extents. My original intent is that this little span exists somewhere between Gensomaden and Reload. I've read a little bit of Gaiden, but unfortunately it really isn't enough for me to follow very far along its lines once I start brining the heavens farther into it, and therefore it will be my take on how they work and not based off of Gaiden. Up until this point, the stories are not heading in a direction in which I would be ending off the series with my own ending or entering into Reload's territory, so don't worry much about that. Honestly, I try to write these as if they were just another arc tacked on to the end of Gensomaden. I try my best to keep the canon's in character and not disturb the plot with my oc's -that really is one of my biggest goals- so if you think I do, please let me know in a review. Or if there's something you think I haven't explained well, leave a review telling me and if it's not something I had orignally planned on bringing in again later, I'll be sure to clear up all the confusion surrounding it.

So, now that I've made this Author's Note ridiculously long, I hope you enjoy the story.

Rain thudded against the asphalt, nearly drowning the almost desperate gasps for air. Feet pounded in a desperate run, leaving the shattering sounds of splashes in puddles clear as glass. Shouts could be heard faintly in the distance; angry and cruel.

Whisper didn't know where to run to.

The streets were a dangerous place for a girl on her own. She knew that well. She also knew that there was no way for her to avoid it. As a child, the tunnel under the bridge had been her playhouse. Now, as a teenager, it was her safe haven. She just had to hope she could make it back there.

"Get back here!" She ran faster, trying to escape. There was no where left to run to, without leading them straight to her home.

Men drew closer, their intently purely that of murder. She hated them, could feel it swelling through her. She hated that they made her helpless and afraid; hated that she had to run from them. She, who had lived a rough life growing up alone on the streets, was reduced to fleeing from a fight. That's what happens when you bring your fists to a knife fight.

There was a squeal of tires, and she jumped back to avoid being run over by a car speeding and skidding to a stop in front of her. The passenger door was shoved upon. "Get in!"

Whisper wasn't one that had to be told twice. She slid in, slamming and locking the door behind her. The car sped off again, and she sighed in relief. Her head hit the window, and for the first time in an hour Whisper felt safe.

"Thanks Stephen. I owe you one." She breathed out.

"You don't owe me shit, Whisp." He said, eyes fixed on the road. "We gotta stick together, right?"

She smiled softly and looked over to her companion. Stephen was older than her -nineteen- and had been looking out for her for years. His hair was died black again, a small gauge in one ear and a ring in his lip. She watched his tattooed arms grip the steering wheel; tight and confident. He was so calm that she became so instantly just by being in his presence.

"They didn't hurt you did they?" He asked.

"Nah. I'm fine. I run fast." She flashed him her teeth as she grinned. "Got the stuff too. This shit's grade A. Straight up." She smirked and pulled a baggie out of her pocket. It was filled with white powder.

Stephen took the bag from her and examined it. "Nice!"

"I know, right? We goin to the tracks?" Whisper kicked her feet up on the dashboard and relaxed.

"Nope. Bridge tonight. There's gonna be a bonfire." He told her.

They parked the car pretty far off from the bridge. It was normal procedure for them, something they had done a million times. When you're livin on the streets and drowning in drugs, it's never wise to let people know where to find you.

Whisper followed Stephen down the steep hill to their little hideaway under the bridge, trying to match his footsteps. He was the closest she had to family, she thought as she watched the imprints of his shoes in the mud disappear beneath her. He taught her to hate the world, to chose the best dope. He taught her how to snort her coke, about uppers and downers. He took her to her first rave. He gave her her first tattoo, her first piercing. Stephen was all she had, and she clung to him like a life raft.

The whole party was there, huddled under the bridge around their barrels of fire. Someone produced a can of gasoline as they got there. Wood was set up; old chairs and tables from the dump, and they set it up in flames. Whisper huddled around it, wrapping her arms around her legs as she was greeted by the other misfits of society. Here they gathered together; the orphans of the streets. This was their congregation, and they were about to sing their choruses.

Whisper pulled out her baggie as Stephen brought over a short stool and an old credit card. As Whisper took her first line, Stephen watched her. He then followed suit. It was here, drowning in drugs, that whisper felt safe. Everywhere else was a fucking nightmare, but at least here she could be free.

Stephen was always affectionate when he was high, and now was no acception. He flirted with all the girls noncommittedly, wrapped arms around any female mass of heat, and pet Whisper's hair with a smile. It was something she had grown used to seeing after so many years. He took to the drugs for comfort just the same as she did. So they always did it together.

And sometimes, when the drugs had her feeling just right, she would even let him hold her hand.