Hi, everyone, MarcellusMiro66 here! This is a Loud House story once again inspired by "No Such Luck", but with a different approach. Taking a page from That Engineer's "What Is A Person Worth?", the story injects a heavy dose of gritty realism but also mixes it with a supernatural element that represents the characters' internal conflict, similar to Life is Strange. Of course, knowing the one and only me and me only, I could be lying...

As he is at his wit's end, Lincoln (after being kicked out of the house and forced to wear a squirrel costume for the family's benefit) mentally develops a new friend: a split personality who possesses a calm and charismatic personality, but also harbors a murderous obsession towards cleansing the world of criminals, thugs, and generally bad people. Of course, this affects everybody he cares about, especially his family.

The story and tone is akin of that of a dramatic thriller with supernatural elements, but it isn't without any lighthearted moments. The style can be seen as a hybrid of Taxi Driver and Donnie Darko. So, with that said...

Enjoy! If you can...

Luck. A success or failure seemingly brought by chance rather than one's own actions. A specific something primarily regarded as bringing about or foretell good or bad occurrences. "A purposeless, unpredictable and uncontrollable force that shapes events favourably or unfavourably for an individual, group or cause" as described by Noah Webster and his dictionary, or "events that influence one's life and are seemingly beyond one's control" as defined by Max Gunther and his author license." Little is known of luck's importance in the average human being's everyday lifestyle. One thing's for sure, though: It remains a controversial topic for many years to come.

The meaning of the word luck (or chance on occasion) can vary by the by the philosophical, religious, mystical and emotional context of the one interpreting it. When thought of as a factor beyond one's control, without regard to one's will, intention or desired result, there are at least two senses that people usually mean when the term is utilized: the prescriptive sense and the descriptive sense. In the prescriptive sense, it [luck] is a supernatural and deterministic concept that there are forces (e.g. gods or spirits) that determine certain events which occur very much the way laws of physics will prescribe that certain events occur. In other words, people say they "do not believe in luck". In the descriptive sense, people speak of luck after a series of fortunate or unfortunate events that prompt possible uncertainty.

Unfortunately for one Lincoln Loud, his family of ten (eleven plus him) rapidly retreated to the latter camp all because of a fucking baseball game. Even if he [Lincoln] was the instigator of this entire mess (as you will see), it was the family who ultimately saw the bad lie as all too real.

Somehow, this worked to his benefit.

Schizophrenia. A mental disorder characterized a series of abnormal social behavior and inability to comprehend what is fact and what is fiction. Delusion, thought disorders, and auditory hallucination are some of the most common symptoms, while others includes reduced social engagement, little to no emotional expressions, and a lack of motivation. It largely develops in young adolescence and can lead to additional mental health difficulties such as anxiety, depressive, or substance-use disorders. A chronic duration, the personality disorder known as schizophrenia can and will last for a very long time.

Environmental and genetic factors have been identified the causes of schizophrenia. Environmental factors include certain infections, parental age, poor pregnancy nutrition, adolescents' usage of cannabis, and being raised (good or bad, it didn't matter) in a densely populated city; genetic factors include a plethora of common and scarce genetic variants. The diagnosis of a patient is established around behavior observed, reported experiences centered on the person, reports of the people who knew said person, and that person's culture. However, contrary to popular belief, schizophrenia doesn't imply signs of "dissociative identity disorder", "multiple personality disorder", or a "split personality". The treatment centerpieces are antipsychotic medication, counselling, job training and social rehabilitation. Clozapine may be prescribed for those who don't improve with other antipsychotics. It remains unclear if either typical or atypical antipsychotics are better than the other.

Involuntary hospitalization may be necessary in more serious situations, although hospital visits have become less and less frequent than once before. One thing is certain, however.

Somehow, that worked for her benefit.

Psychology. A science of behavior, mind, and thought. An academic discipline and social science seeking to understand individuals by creating extensive rules and analyzing specific cases. A person who studies in this field is known as a "psychologist", who can be ranked as a social, behavioral, or cognitive scientist. They aim to comprehend the role of mental functions in both individual behavior and social behavior; while also delving into the physiological/biological processes that influence subjective functions and behaviors. Psychologists explore the behavior and mental processes, which include perception, cognition, attention, emotion (affect), intelligence, phenomenology, motivation (conation), brain functioning, and personality.

The study of psychology can often extend to social interactions (interpersonal relationships), psychological resilience, family resilience, and additional areas. Psychologists utilize empirical methods to interpret casual and correlational relationships between psychosocial variables. In addition (or opposition for some), some psychologists – especially those who are clinical or counseling – often rely on symbolic interpretation and other inductive techniques. Psychology is directed towards the comprehension and solving problems in several domains of human activity, while also being applied to the analysis and remedy of mental health problems. It has been described as a "hub science", with links to the social sciences, natural sciences, medicine, humanities, and philosophy.

So why am I telling you this? Because you should made aware of and know this.

Somehow...it worked to all of their detriment.

(Friday, April 14th 2017)
(1:00 PM)

("Hurt" – Nine Inch Nails) [Johnny Cash Cover]

The Loud Family arrived home from the beach and exited their decrepit family van, all the while talking about all the fun times they had on their day out. At the same time, however, Lincoln was ruthlessly reprimanded by both of his parents for attempting to take off his squirrel costume. His explanation fell on deaf ears, as both parents wouldn't have it; they weren't going to let their son (whose pointless explanation that involved him not being bad luck was equally appalling) ruin their perfect day. As punishment, they sent him to his room for the meantime until nighttime, when he was required to reside outside while the squirrel costume (their only "hope" of good luck staying alive and on their side) would be inside for cleaning.

Lincoln silently closed the door of his formerly boarded-up room and slipped out of the squirrel costume in a similar fashion. He found that, upon getting out, his room was stripped of his furniture; from his clothing to his laptop, everything (and we mean everything) was sorted in dark grey plastic storage bins. His "room" resembled more of a storage closet. The fitting irony was this: his room was an actual closet to begin with.

Lincoln himself couldn't care less. Three months. It had been three fucking weeks since this whole fiasco had commenced, and he was beginning to regret his decision to use the squirrel costume following Lynn's baseball game. Summer was close to beginning, and it was not a way to begin it. He eventually got what he wanted out of the distressing experience (some peace and quiet time for himself), so why wasn't he happy? Well, it was during this point in this personal hell that Lincoln reached a realization: When was the last time any of my sisters supported my activities? Sure, there was that karate tryout, but only my parents showed up and that only earned me a broken arm and hand. Then there was that beauty pageant that became the butt of many a joke for Lola. And of course, who could forget that one event where I was the self-proclaimed marathon man? ... I came in last. I came in fucking last and nobody fucking showed up. Well, except the clean-up guy, but he's supposed to be there! I, on the other hand, signed up! How could I be so...stupid?!

Lincoln sighed to himself and curled into a ball, silently sobbing in between his knees. It became apparent that whenever he made time for his family and the accompanying events, all (or, at the very least, half) of the family showed. However, few could attend whenever the role reversal ever occurred.

Does my family really see as nothing more than a good luck charm? Am I not a brother or...a son to them?

Lincoln decided to turn in early for the night and slipped on the dreaded squirrel costume, but not before spraying it with an overdose of air freshener. Placing everything back in its former place, he exited the bedroom and descended downstairs to head outside...unaware of the shadow following him out.

(3:00 PM)

Cristina had been staring at her reflection in the mirror for two minutes too long. She sighed softly at the girl before her: a girl who was 11 years of age and should have something better to do than sell her body for money and (forced) pleasure. She wanted desperately to be someone other than this girl, but she couldn't. Either through laziness or resignation, she just couldn't. Sometimes, she believed it was her inevitable fate. Sometimes, she believed it was meant to be. Sometimes...she believed it was this line spoken to her by her mother that should've foreshadowed the events to come:

"Sit still and look pretty, my daughter..."

Cristina scowled at that morbid memory and shook it off, proceeding to get ready. She slowly stripped out of her usual navy blue blouse, which surprisingly hid skin and flesh beneath. In plain English, she was naked the entire time. The feeling would be rather bittersweet, as she slipped on a black lingerie set, complete with bra, underwear, and garter belt with stockings. Applying red lipstick and black eye shadow, she then placed a black hairband in place of her usual orange, but she kept the golden hoops intact. For the finishing touch, she slid on a pair of black leather Mary Jane flats and a black see-through dress. Now an 11-year-old femme fatale, it was important for her to be seductive and morally ambiguous, as one would do. In this case, the proper term would be a fille fatale.

Cristina, the moment she stepped out her door, had expected her first client of the night to be another teenage dirtbag like the others she pleasured so far.

I, the moment I stepped out my door, had expected my next client of the night to be another teenage dirtbag like the others I've pleasured so far. But no... It had to be a her. A her rather than a he. No, I'm not exactly bi, but damn, if looks can kill...then I'm already dead. It's just that girls – specifically the ones around my age – tend to be the most sexiest...and the most hornest in rare cases. God, my hormones are practically rocketing sky high at this moment. She's such a sexy motherfucker, you know that?

"Now who might you be?"

This next client of hers (to her surprise) wasn't like the other teenage dirtbags she pleasured so far. It was a girl, an 11-year-old girl with jet-black hair with gelled-up purple highlights. Other highlights (no pun intended) included a gap between her front teeth, a set of pierced ears but no earrings in sight, and pink eye shadow. Her clothing set consisted of an aubergine jacket, a mini T-shirt with horizontal stripes, a pink checkered skirt, and a pair of white platform boots.

"The name's Tabitha Tipton, but my mates call me Tabby."

Mmm, Tabby... Oh, and she's British, too...

"Tabby... Well, Tabby..." God, I love saying her name... "What bring you to the Blue Triangle Club at three in the afternoon, no less?"

Tabby shrugged her shoulders as she stuffed both hands into both hands of her jacket, "I don't know, honestly. I just came for...some stress relief, I guess."

Cristina chuckled and nodded, "Yeah, I can relate with you there. You look like you need a major overdose of it."

"No shit."

The rock girl was suddenly caught off guard by the girly girl placing a big old smooch on the lips, which she melted into anyway. When they both broke away, they stared deeply into each other's eyes. The mutual feeling wasn't exactly love, but it wasn't exactly far from it either. It was lust... A dose of dangerous lust...

"What's it like?"

"What?"

"All of...this."

"... Well...it isn't exactly glamorous, but...then again, it's not supposed to be."

"And yet you still stay? Why?"

"... I just do. It's my job."

"... Well...keep doing it."

And so, Cristina and Tabby ended up bedding each other by the end of the night...unaware of the sweet dreams that would be plaguing their sleep...

(5:00 PM)

Dr. Aurora Lopez, a French-Hispanic woman who was currently 31 years of age, sat in her office as she studied the notes she took from other cilents. The building at which her office was constructed in was actually quite commodius, being 20 stories in the air. Unfortunately, this also meant that more people could be allowed in, ranging from dentists to gynecologists. She didn't mind it, though. It was...unexpected, to say the least. Her office contained (aside from her smooth dark brown Bush Northfield Credenza) a master sofa, a recliner, and a lounging chair for her clients to get comfortable on. To get where she was today (besides her office), the biracial doctor displayed painstaking eminence in the past decade, but it never hurt to take small steps.

Her transfer to the small town of Royal Woods was a start for the young psychologist; it was neither good nor bad, but a mere start. She had a fair amount of clients (20 to 60 per year), but out of them, none could compare to the married couple of Howard and Harold McBride. Well aware of the presumed stigma a same-sex could possibly face from those specific religious groups, Aurora had considered them to be her most complex out of all of her clients. Despite the occasional nuisance subdued within (i.e., their adoptive son Clyde and his persistent case of unrequited romance), Dr. Lopez was the living embodiment of very patience...but even she could lose her nerve from time to time. This wasn't entirely true, however; she never would vent her frustration in front of her clients.

This was my problem...

Dr. Lopez smoothed down from her forehead to her nose bridge, flicking away any bead of sweat her pair of fingers encountered. It was close to quitting time now. She yawned as she closed her notepad (the purple-and-black one of many) and sat up from her chair, walking to the coat rank behind her and retrieving her yellow overcoat. Placing on herself, she searched for her car keys and exited her office; from her office to the parking lot, she located her car – a BMW Black 7 Boss – and drove off to her house in Detroit...unaware of the dimmed light watching her from afar.

When she arrived at her house, Dr. Lopez took a long look at her father's household. It was just the same as before 20 years prior: two stories, brown bricks, a white door, front stairs that led to said white door, and a green roof. Her mother was a woman who favored an even mix of simple and exquisite taste; her father was the same, except it was flip-flopped with a greater emphasis of exquisite over simple. Knowing better than to ask why as a little girl, she assumed that it ran in the family. She knew better now.

Dr. Lopez sighed solemnly and walked up the front stairs, reaching the front doors and unlocking it. Entering her house and closing the door behind her, she stopped under the impression that someone was watching her before shaking her head and continuing on inside.

Oh, how right she was...

The figure from the outside watching three of the main characters so far (aside from himself) took the form of a black mist, chuckling to himself as hands clasped together – the surefire sign of a plan being formulated.

A/N: The story can be also seen as a Spiritual Successor to my "Brawl in the Family" story, "The Devil's Carnival". Both take place during widely despised episodes of the TV series, contain a supernatural element, and involve Lincoln losing his sanity. Also, this may or may not be a revival of my other controversial "No Such Luck" story, "Unforgettable"...you know, the one where Nick and Judy from Zootopia are humans there. (I'm deeply sorry for that, by the way, and hope that it isn't off-putting or even traumatizing for some.) It may contain some parts from said story, but it is a different story completely...and you can ignore it (or make of it what you will until I delete it).