Hi, everyone, MarcellusMiro66 here! This is a Loud House story set in an alternate universe in the vein of the DC Extended Universe. This story is inspired by "Inadequate" (by YARIDOVICH23), "The Broken House" (by Omega Ultra), "What Is A Person Worth" (by That Engineer), "Making the Case", and "No Such Luck".

Lincoln's life is withering away; His sisters except Lori, Lynn, and Lily are mad at him, his girlfriend is cheating on him with his best friend, and nobody but a few selective people – including his divorced parents – support him. However, after a run-in with a young girl and her uncle (who just happens to be a notorious crime boss), Lincoln's life takes a tremendous turn. For the better or the worse, he doesn't know.

The story's plotline and visual style is inspired by Bullitt, The Getaway, Once Upon a Time in America, Blue Velvet, Carlito's Way, Pulp Fiction, Face/Off, Punch-Drunk Love, John Wick, and Kingsman: The Secret Service.

Enjoy! If you can...


(Friday, November 18th 2016)
(12 N)

"As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster. To me, being a gangster was better than being President of the United States. Even before I first wandered into the cabstand for an afterschool job, I knew I wanted to be a part of them. It was there that I knew that I belonged. To me, it meant being somebody in the neighborhood that was full of nobodies. They weren't like anybody else. I mean, they did whatever they wanted."

"If you're part of a crew, nobody ever tells you that they're going to kill you, doesn't happen that way. There weren't any arguments or curses like in the movies. See, your murderers come with smiles, they come as your friends, the people who've cared for you all of your life. And they always seem to come at a time that you're at your weakest and most in need of their help."

Lincoln was turbulently thrown out of the boy's bathroom by a group of them. Luckily, the Principal and two more teachers found him and confronted the bullying boys, awarding them a strict speech and following five day in-school suspension. It wasn't entirely enough to reliably relive him of the persistent pain, but it would do for the time being. He went and walked home – having missed his ride home and considering it was the end of a Friday. He had halfheartedly hoped for this, as the bus contained two of his best fiends: Clyde McBride and Ronnie Anne Santiago. He couldn't stand to see them both: separate, together, or let alone in the same room as him...at least not at the moment. He wanted to be alone in actuality, and preferred to keep it that way.

"I'll tell you why. I think you're a lonely person. I drive by this place a lot and I see you here. I see a lot of people around you. And I see all these phones and all this stuff on your desk. It means nothing. Then when I came inside and I met you, I saw in your eyes and I saw the way you carried yourself that you're not a happy person. And I think you need something. And if you want to call it a friend, you can call it a friend."

Lincoln had no friends, no family, no one left to trust in the world. Well, that wasn't totally true; he could place trust into his parents, as they seemed to be the only ones in his family who completely cared for him to certainty and weren't absolutely angry at him besides any other family members who weren't his ten sisters. Clyde and Ronnie Anne were both different stories entirely. He wasn't mad, he wasn't angry, and he sure as hell wasn't exasperated. In fact, those three agitating adjectives weren't accurately able to begin to cover how he was fully feeling about the multifarious misfortune he relentlessly and ruthlessly received.

"It's all bullshit except the pain. The pain of hell. The burn from a lighted match increased a million times. Infinite. Now, ya don't fuck around with the infinite. There's no way you do that. The pain in hell has two sides. The kind you can touch with your hand; the kind you can feel in your heart... your soul, the spiritual side. And ya know... the worst of the two is the spiritual."

Lincoln felt like erupting like a violent volcano, exploding like a bountiful bomb, or a cataclysmic combination of the two. Either way, he was bound to brutally burst into an amazing amalgamation of astonishing anger and resenting rage. The occurring outburst was indeed not going to be previously assumed as pretty.

"Hey, I'm not square, you're the one that's square. You're full of shit, man. What are you talking about? You walk out with those fuckin' creeps and lowlifes and degenerates out of the streets and you sell your little pussy for peanuts? For some low-life pimp who stands in the hall? And I'm square? You're the one that's square, man. I don't go screwing fuck with a bunch of killers and junkies like you do. You call that bein' hip? What world are you from?"

Lincoln wanted to make them pay. Lincoln wanted to make them suffer. Lincoln wanted to make them dead. Dead in a coffin. Dead in a ditch. Dead in the gutter.

Dead everywhere and anywhere. The world will torment Lincoln Loud no longer. They will recognize and respect the name of Lincoln Loud.

"For us to live any other ways was nuts. Uh, to us, those goody-good people who worked shitty jobs for bum paychecks and took the subway to work every day, and worried about their bills, were dead. I mean, they were suckers. They had no balls. If we wanted something, we just took it. If anyone complained twice, they got hit so bad, believe me, they never complained again."

"You know, we always called each other good fellas. Like you said to, uh, somebody, "You're gonna like this guy. He's all right. He's a good fella. He's one of us." You understand? We were good fellas. Wiseguys."

Patience was a vital virtue, so it wouldn't be necessary on his side. A contrived coincidence, however, was, and Lincoln needed one desperately. Lincoln Loud was certainly cynical at best, Lincoln Loud was meticulously murderous at worst.

That's Lincoln Loud for you.

(~****~)

At The Same Time. . .

The soft snow fell upon the city as people hustled and bustled around to go about their basic business. Despite the fact that it was mid-November, it felt like early to late December for most. It'd probably make surefire sense, considering that the citizens were in ultimately upstate New York City, specifically a cold Connecticut. This was a city of crime. This was a city of violence. This was a city of fear.

This...was Gotham City.

Gotham City was a large metropolitan city. It is the hostile home of substantial supervillains in hiding, such as The Scarecrow, The Joker, Two-Face, Harley Quinn, Mr. Freeze, and Bane. However, it is also the heartfelt home of the general genius, basic billionaire, popular playboy, and proper philanthropist: the one and only Bruce Wayne, who meticulously masquerades as Batman – the Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight, and simply the Big Bad Bat. With his wits and smarts – both methodical and martial art-wise – combined with his abundance of alike allies, an abundance of alike adversaries such as the six listed above were now incarcerated individuals in either Arkham Asylum and Belle Reve. Batman was a symbol of hope, hope that the city, one of the darkest of night in history, will see the light of day. With that, he was a central cofounder of the world's most substantial superhero team...the Justice League.

However, the Justice League doesn't always see to any credible threat, so other vital villains have the advancing advantage. Such is the case of a notorious crime boss by the name of Arnold Stromwell, whose criminal ways reached all the way back to childhood. Despite the perilous position he held, his prime prominence was undoubtedly undeniable, prompting extreme envy from many past, present, and future crime bosses, especially his current competitor Rupert Thorne. Unlike Thorne, however, Stromwell was ultimately unwilling to place anyone in harm's way; he only did what he saw necessary. Besides, he had a family to support...as well as a never known niece.

Arnold stood outside on the balcony of his penthouse suite, gazing upon the landscape of Gotham with high hopes. Arnold knew to never hope too highly, as he was taught by his brother to expected the unexpected. Arnold would see this philosophic phrase come into fruition when a knock on the door brought him out of his fulfilled fantasy,

"Come in."

The door ominously opened up just as Arnold tentatively turned around, the hand behind his back cocking his stainless steel Jericho 941 R. He was casually caught off guard by his brother himself and a young girl hiding behind him,

"Michael."

"Arnold. I'm sorry, but...there was no one else I could go to."

"What is it?"

Michael turned his attention to the young girl clinging onto him tightly and then back to his brother, "The girl...I had found her on the streets last night; she was naked and cold. I...couldn't fully fathom the shaking sight of her beat-up body."

The young girl was visibly shaken by Michael's dreadful description of her atrocious appearance when he found her; Michael's immense infuriation was burning up within him, a testament to how angry he was at the men responsible,

"She was raped?"

"Unfortunately, yes, Arnold. Fortunately, I managed to fend them off when they came back."

Arnold nodded in understanding and slowly sauntered over to the young girl, efficiently examining her from head to toe. Bruises and cuts indeed covered her body, signifying a small sign of rape. Her brown eyes showed fear just as her twitchy hands, strengthening that signal. Her legs were leaking a white substance, solidifying that signal. This young girl had been ruthlessly raped and scared senseless.

"What's your name?"

The girl's reply was soft but loud enough for him to hear, "Sophie... Sophie Zane."

Arnold nodded again and walked to his desk, "I'll see what I can do. Right now, I suggest that the both of you stay with Connie and Joey for the next few days. They moved to a small town called Huntington Oaks, Michigan; it shouldn't be hard to find."

Michael nodded in return, "Thank you, Arnold. I suppose you'll be doing what you do best?"

"Don't worry, Michael, I'll make sure that nobody dies...besides the men who did this."

"I was afraid you would say that."

With that, Michael exited the room while escorting small Sophie out with him. When they were both out of eyesight, Arnold took out and checked the cartridge of his Jericho 941. Placing the pistol down, he walked over to the wall and, after peeling off a portion of it, unveiled a large lock and thumbprint identification pad. He opened the safe after proceeding with the procedural, revealing a mass of money and a fascicle of firearms: a Glock 17 (3rd Generation), a Glock 19 (3rd Generation), a Beretta 92FS, a SIG-Sauer P226R, a M4A1 Carbine, and many variants of the Colt M1911A1 among others. He always had to assume that a small act can lead to a big war, and he had to be prepared for it. Nothing more, nothing less.

His nephew, Anthony "Tony" Zucco, was an excellent example. His horrid hit on the Flying Graysons was both inappropriate and irresponsible; for that, he cut all family and business ties with him permanently. He was caught by Batman and Robin the next months following their deaths. He was crystal clear aware of Robin's civilian identity, as he knew that no one else would go after him for a random reason.

Wait a minute...

Arnold had just realized that Tony had a daughter, a product of ruthless rape. He turned towards the spot where Michael and Sophie were standing a few moments earlier.

'Was this Sophie Zane really is who she says to be?'

Arnold had to find out the truth, just for the sake of this impromptu witness protection program. He turned on his laptop and, after plugging in his flash drive, got to work. First, the name. Second, the town. Finally, the nephew. He compared the two photos side by side and first conceived the truth as just a contrived coincidence, but took things into consideration, such as the reason how and why Sophie was in Gotham City today. She had no presumed parents in plain sight, and Tony and the girl had a very hard history.

'Did Tony...?'

Arnold suddenly felt horror, uncertainty, and finally rage swirl in his stomach. It was mostly rage, in fact 70% rage. To say that he was mad, angry, and/or exasperated would be the ultimate understatement of the 21st century. He was intensely infuriated beyond the breaking point. If Tony did indeed beat or even maybe rape her, there would be one less competitor to worry about.

(~****~)

Oh, wait, Did I say "he walked and went home"? Scratch that. Despite this particular day being an Early Release, Lincoln decided to head to lunch, believing that the things that have been happening today couldn't possibly get much more worse than they already were. He was dead wrong. From a distance was his supposed-to-be girlfriend and his supposed-to-be best friend. Both exchanged ginger glances as they looked at the one person who once cared for them,

"You know, I almost can't believe I liked the Lame-O." Ronnie Anne crossed her arms and glanced to her boyfriend.

"I almost can't believe I liked his sister." Clyde rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Lori never liked you anyway, so why bother?"

"I don't know, babe. I guess it was her eyes."

"Ugh. It's always the girls' eyes for you boys. And stop calling me babe, babe."

"Hey, lovebirds!" Chandler walked over, crossing his own arms, "Are we getting to bombard the loser or what?"

Chandler's impatience rewarded him with a bodyslam to the floor, "If you were patient enough, then yes... We are going to bombard the Lame-O before the day is over. Now come on."

A small group of students followed behind the couple, one of them being highly hesitant to participate in the Bombardment. Not just because she knew what the perceived punishment was certainly capable of, but also because she knew it was wrong. She'd seen him at school hanging out with his former friends, especially the two leaders. Clyde McBride was Lincoln's best friend since kindergarten, having been through hell and back. He had almost always accompanied him through everything and stood up for him while at it. Speaking of accompanying, Ronnie Anne was Lincoln's crush/secret girlfriend...and this was before the video contest. Her blatant bullying was a form of facade so no one could be suspicious of the sort. Unfortunately, you can see where this is going.

Clyde was jealous of Lincoln's seemingly perfect life: The perfect family, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect everything. So, one day, during the events during the video contest, Clyde secretly sneaked into Luan's closet and searched for Lincoln's videotapes. Finally locating them all, he went home and started skimming through, stopping upon the perfect piece of humiliation: Lincoln's fantasy of another girl he "once" loved: a girl by the name of Cristina McKinnon. So, calling up Ronnie Anne, she saw the video the next day when Clyde invited her over; needless to say, she was definitely devastated by the revelation. Her anger getting the best of her, she broke up with him following a severe scolding from his brothers via email. Clyde consoled Ronnie Anne the nights after, each one unintentionally falling for the other in the process. Six months later...

Well, here we are... Mollie gently gulped.

The band of students made their way to the cafeteria and spotted Lincoln from afar, sitting far from the usual table where he and Clyde used to sit at. He placed his lunch on the table, slowly sat down, and closed his eyes. He was all ready to accept his fate, something only Mollie noticed as Ronnie Anne and Clyde moved forward with their plan, a small smile of pride growing upon their faces.

I... I can't do this. I can't participate in this. I need to get out of here. Lincoln needs to get out of there. Oh, Lincoln, I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me...

"Um, Ronnie Anne?"

Said tomboy glanced behind her, "What?"

"Can I go use the bathroom? I can't...hold it."

Ronnie Anne frowned upon hearing this but sighed and nodded, "Fine, but don't blame me if you miss a very good Bombardment. Hurry back if you can."

"Thank you," Mollie mutely muttered before running off to the "bathroom".

"Ronnie Anne. You ready?"

She turned back towards her boyfriend, "Yeah... I'm ready." She gestured the students to go get their lunches. After they all did, all of them slowly surrounded an unsuspecting Lincoln. By the time he fully realized what was happening...

It was too little, too late.

"BOMBS AWAY!"

Lincoln opened his eyes to see the steaming hot food flying towards him. Slightly betrayed, saddened, and heartbroken, he braced for imminent impact: spaghetti splattered all over his face, pizza pierced all over his clothes, and the ice cream parfait was the literal icing on the cake as he, blinding by the abundant amount of flying food, suddenly slipped and slammed his head on one of the chairs. He fell into utter unconsciousness soon after.

Everybody laughed. Everybody, from the people responsible for the Bombardment to the people who had absolutely no idea what exactly happened, laughed hard at the victim's abuse. Lincoln himself remained unconscious for the duration of the laughing lunch period, something some of the few non-laughing students noticed. The remnants of Lincoln's friends tended to the victim, mouths agape upon a closer inspection,

"Lincoln?"

Ronnie Anne and Clyde themselves ceased their laughter, both for the same reason. She, parting away from him, slowly stepped forward and checked on the unconscious Lincoln herself, a cold chill running up her spine, "Lincoln? Hey, Lincoln. Get...get up."

"Hey! You get away from him!" Ronnie Anne found herself face to face with Rusty, the self-proclaimed leader of Lincoln's friends, "Who do you think you are?"

"I'm...sorry." Was all Ronnie Anne could muster up.

"Oh, that's all you have to say?! I don't a stupid "Sorry" could fix that!" Liam yelled while gesturing to Lincoln.

"Hey! Leave her alone!" Clyde came to Ronnie Anne's defense, "We had our reasons for the Bombardment!"

"Really? Name one!"

Clyde opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. A realization had reached him: all of this - all the tremendous torture in the past six months - happened to Lincoln - his best friend - because of his own envy. He used the tape of Lincoln "kissing" Clyde as leverage, he intentionally stole Lincoln's crush/secret girlfriend, and he ordered the Bombardment on Lincoln with said crush/secret girlfriend with gratuitous glee. Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln. His plan to ruin his best friend's life had worked.

It worked horribly.

"Thought so." Liam shook his head in shame for the couple, turning to one of the boys, "Chad, lift Lincoln up." The brunette-haired boy nodded and did just that, just as a dirty-blonde girl arrived back from the "bathroom",

"Ronnie Anne?"

"Mollie?" Ronnie Anne turned and saw another person arriving right behind her (Mollie), her wish of sharply sinking into the floor almost a reality at this point.

"I'm so sorry."

"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Nobody ever heard Mrs. Johnson scream as loud as the actual Louds could, but on the rare occasion they could, they knew she was a force to be reckoned with. It was because of this that the band of students screamed as well and scattered away from her and the cafeteria as a whole. Ronnie Anne and Clyde were among the students, but not before stopping and staring at a desperate Mrs. Johnson performing CPR on a still unconscious Lincoln.

Did... Did I kill him...?

"Ronnie Anne, come on!"

Clyde suddenly snapped Ronnie Anne out of her deep dwelling and she took off after him. Neither could forgive themselves for this unforgivable sin.


20 Minutes Later. . .

Lincoln slipped out of the bathroom wearing his new clothes. Putting on the brown leather jacket, he walked out of the school in absolute anger. He had knew about the Bombardment. He had feigned his unconsciousness. He had heard everything through Mrs. Johnson. He had a substantial shred of spite swimming around in his stomach. He had absolutely no idea what to do or where to go from here; he just knew that he just had to get away from his so-called family and friends. Slipping from sanity, Lincoln turned and unleashed his maddening monologue from the mind:

"Damn it. I knew this was a bad idea. I was just beginning to forgive them all, especially Ronnie Anne and Clyde. Even after we broke up, I still loved Ronnie Anne for six months now, and this is how she repays me? Plus, Clyde was my best friend since childhood, for God's sake! I mean, they're my two best friends! I trusted them with my life! Come on, my sisters are an entirely different story, but more on that later. You know, sometimes, people can't keep to themselves. Right? RIGHT?"

Lincoln was losing his damn mind by the second.

"You know what really grinds my gears? It's the reason why Clyde and Ronnie Anne did this to me: They were jealous. They were jealous of me. I had a so-called perfect life. I had a so-called perfect family. I had a so-called perfect girlfriend. Well, guess what? I DID have a so-called perfect life. I DID have a so-called perfect family. I DID have a so-called perfect girlfriend. Clyde took it all away from me! I'm actually glad now that I think about it! Right? RIGHT?"

Lincoln was huffing and puffing all the way.

"My sisters hate me, my best friend hates me, and even my girlfriend hates me! Well, I'm grateful for that! They deserve so much better than the screw-up that is me, Lincoln Loud! Right? RIGHT? RIGHT?!"

Lincoln suddenly slipped again, this time on ice and slammed his head...on the same spot as before. A moment's notice later, he found himself curling into a ball and crying into the snow. His blood, sweat, and tears mixed with said snow to create a disturbing depiction of almost art.

Lincoln silently sobbed and buried his hands in his face.

(~****~)

At The Same Time. . .

The Stromwell Family, upon meeting young Sophie, agreed to meet with each other in Royal Woods Mall to discuss the impromptu witness protection program. The reason was they didn't want any rival crime families eavesdropping on the crucial conversation that would follow. They chose Royal Woods Mall because it was a lot of people in one place: easier to lose armed assassins and harder to win crucial conversations.

Arnold and Michael walked side-by-side to the food court, where they spotted Connie, Joey, and Sophie walking side-by-side-by-side. They spotted the two men as well and walked to them, who in turn walked to the trio. They stopped right on the spot and exchanged acknowledging looks,

"Connie." Arnold first turned to his ex-wife.

"Arnold." Connie nodded to her ex-husband.

"Son." Arnold then turned to his son.

"Dad." Joey nodded to his father.

"Hello, Sophie." Michael acknowledged Sophie.

"Hi." Was the closest thing the family heard to a reply; she hadn't spoken since last night. Michael had previously informed Connie that Sophie was the silent type, something she perfectly understood. She gestured the rest of them to take a table while Sophie excused herself to use the bathroom. The family was readily reluctant, but Joey agreed to accompany her. As she was in the bathroom, Sophie washed her face and gazed at her reflection: She saw herself nothing less than a guilty whore and nothing more than an innocent girl. She hated herself because of this as did everybody else (with the exception of her family, of course), to the point where she wanted to kill herself.

Sophie silently sobbed and buried her hands in her face.

(~****~)

After A Moment's Notice. . .

Lincoln silently stood up and flicked the blood off his head. He glanced around to see if anyone was suspiciously snooping about and walked away once he knew he was in the clear.

Sophie silently stood up and flicked the sweat off her head. She glanced around to see if anyone was suspiciously snooping about and walked away once she knew she was in the clear.

Lincoln arrived at Royal Woods Mall; he had no particular idea in the slightest why he was here but to get away from it all. Huh, I made a rhyme. Little did he knew, another lost soul was here as well and also almost out of time.

Sophie exited from and arrived at the table her family was at. Arnold watched her with worry and concern; that worry and concern only increased as he laid eyes on a young boy who seemed Sophie's age seeping blood from his forehead. Almost nobody noticed him...at first. When the people did, though, they too were filled with worry and concern, even rushing over to help him. Lincoln, however, casually waved them off as he made his way to the bathroom, a vacant expression on his face.

Alongside her uncle, Sophie was the first to notice the bleeding boy. He was around her age, donning a brown leather jacket with combat boots, and a streak of blood didn't dare drip on the rest of his clothes. There was something unusual about this particular boy, no doubt about it. Aside from his pair of jet-black eyes and tuft of snow white hair, it seemed that his facial expressions and body language said more than his words. His right arm was clinging onto his left as if it was shot repeatedly, while his eyes stared dead ahead with a rather vacant expression. It was almost if he was either a living and breathing zombie or an emotionless stalker whose pain was his strength. In fact, pain may be in the vital vocabulary of this 11-year-old...sociopath?

Sociopath...? Who is he?

Sophie cocked her head in confusion. This boy was a mystery waiting to be solved.

His interest getting the best of him, Arnold excused himself from the table and cautiously followed Lincoln inside. The boy washed his face with warm water and soap, instantly inhaling when the sting was expected. Pressing paper towels against his forehead, the blood seeped through and added color - a given considering that said paper towels were snow white like his hair.

"What happened?"

Not facing Arnold, Lincoln sighed and continued applying pressure to his head injury, "Well, what does it look like? I slipped and fell on some ice."

"Ha. I figured. The holidays can be quite hazardous."

"Then why bother asking what happened?"

"A secret test of character. Arrogant, selfish, and heartfelt: That's your character."

Lincoln raised his head and gazed at his reflection; realizing who he was talking to, his breath got caught in his throat. Arnold noticed this, "I know what you're thinking: A notorious crime boss is the last person a kid like you would talk to."

"That's...that's not entirely true. I'm not that selfish." Lincoln was still stunned how Arnold almost accurately defined his character.

"You're still selfish, though, kid. My point still stands." Arnold crossed his arms in defiance.

"Oh, why would you care? You're a crime boss with nothing to lose."

"I do care, kid. You're a young boy with something to win."

Lincoln faced Arnold fully and mimicked his earlier actions, "What do you want from me?"

"Like I said, you're a young boy with something to win. You have potential, but you're misguided. You're discordant, disconnected - the list goes on and on. You have a motivation, however. That's what I like about you."

Lincoln opened his mouth to speak, but thought about it before speaking again, "Are you offering me a deal?"

Arnold cocked his head in impressing, "Huh. You catch on real fast."

"So, that's a yes."

"Yes, I am. I want to help you. I want to help you acquire a better life. I want to help you obtain a better relationship with your family...assuming that your relationship with them isn't damaged beyond repair already."

Lincoln thought it over once again, "Hmm. Normally, I'd say something like 'Help yourself', but...what's the catch?"

"You can't tell your family about this job I'm offering to you...unless it's through a full façade."

Lincoln thought it over once more three times in a row. If he didn't take this offer, he would be the same screw-up the city of Royal Woods knew and hated. If he did take this offer, he would be the different detriment the city of Royal Woods didn't know and feared. Needless to say, he was in a difficult position.

Lincoln finally reached a decision.

"I'll take it."


A/N: Again, this story is undergoing some rewrites and omitting some superfluous vignettes, but it will most likely remain the same. For example, this revised Chapter 1 places more on the focus on Lincoln and Sophie's troubled lives up until the moment they meet. Moreover, this is explicitly a DC Comics-inspired story, but it won't feature any of the more famous characters.

I am also considering writing a sequel and spin-off to "Drive" in order to expand the universe, explore the mythology, and experiment with the multiverse while still retaining it as a standalone story. Taking a page from "Pigskin Glory" (by Mitchell Movie Productions), it may also involve various cartoon characters; of course, given the state of my review's majority, it may not pan out.

Never say never, right?