(Friday, July 17th 2015)

(12N)

It had a day – one day – since her ruthless rape and subsequent hospitalization.

It had been so relatively rare for the city of Royal Woods to be hit with such a crucial and critical crime that the majority of its entirety had virtually visited her in the hospital and even waited outside, awaiting further information on her current condition. The girl was only 10 years of age when the outraging offense occurred.

The boy was also only 10 years of age when said outraging offense occurred. Right in front of his very eyes.

He could only lay down on his bed in dejected dismay. He could only curl up into a ball and sadly sigh. He could only do nothing but hear the screams of the girl he failed to save relentlessly ring over and over again in his head.

He wanted to find the person who did this to her and confront that person personally.

He wanted to personally end that person's life. A Glock 17 would do the job just fine.

(Saturday, July 18th 2015)

(7:00PM)

It had been two days – two days – since her ruthless rape and subsequent hospitalization. Each and every one of his family members could see the poor boy's grief, most notably the fact that he went to sleep early for the first time in forever. He wanted to sleep his sorrows away from himself, but he couldn't. Instead, he found himself staring blankly at the ceiling and – after a few minutes in – a small box labeled for him upon hearing his window tap.

He found an assortment of items inside. This included a black blazer, a light blue long-sleeve collared shirt, a dark blue vest, a standard orange tie, a pair of black dress pants with shoes, and a handgun with extra ammunition inside. His eyes widened and he picked up the pistol; attached to the slide was a folded note, which read in bold italics:

It's A Start. Tyler Garrison, Andrew Radeson, Gabriel Vladmirescus, and Benjamin Sweetwater. That last person was forced to, so I wouldn't kill him just yet.

- Your Anon-A-Miss Associate

The boy found himself suddenly smiling for the first time in two days. He examined the gun, a Glock 18C, and the outfit. His smile reverted from immature to intending. He nodded in understanding of what this Anon-A-Miss person wanted him to do.

Lincoln Loud would have his vengeance.

(Sunday, July 19th 2015)

(12N)

It had been three days – three days – since her ruthless rape and subsequent hospitalization.

Three days later – considering his driving – Corey arrived in Danville and, after a few information trading, the hospital in which Isabella was held. He was greeted by a crowd of her friends (hopefully) and her parents sitting nearest the room door. The one thing he noticed was their body language: some crumpled up into a ball, others buried their face into their hands, and her parents were sobbing their sorrows away. Well, her mom was, anyway. Her father wasn't, but his eyes showed more pain and hurt than those who were running out of tears.

Corey slowly approached and leaned his head against the doorframe. Like Isabella's father, he couldn't cry nor wanted to. He just closed his eyes and contemplated about a time where it was much simpler. A much simpler time where superheroes reigned supreme and not the supervillains. That time was centrally contributed by the team known as the Titans Alliance. Unlike the Teen Titans – their impacted influence – they had the decency to save innocent civilians here and there. However, thanks to the idiotic decisions made by the Justice League and the Teen Titans, the deaths of said civilians had soared sky high sharply. And unlike him, the Titans didn't know how to handle the situation like a true hero would.

If only he was an actual hero and the balls to show it.

"Are you an friend?"

Corey blinked his eyes open and slowly shifted to find a boy with a weird-ass shaped head looking at him with concern,

"You have a weird shaped head."

Phineas shrugged and only slightly smiled, "So I've been told. You a friend?"

"I'm not exactly sure. We only just met one time. If anything, it's just that." Corey didn't know how to carry that conversation on, so he moved on to another, "Did the authorities catch the not-so-responsible ones?"

"No, not yet," Phineas shook his head, "The city's been placed on citywide alert, but I doubt that the people responsible are still in Danville."

"Obviously. That makes them more dangerous. They could be right under our noses and we would be oblivious to their moves."

Phineas glanced toward the window and nodded, "I have faith in the police to find them."

"You do?" Corey suddenly felt her hand in his, but he shrugged it off as nothing more than a half-hearted hallucination.

"Is that a problem?"

"It's not that I don't trust them... I just don't trust anyone in general."

"Well, I'm sorry, but trust is quite possibly the primary priority above anything else in Danville, if not the nation or even the world. In fact, trust is what makes the police force in this city, not just a bunch of guys running around with guns!"

"The last time my parents trusted someone, they lost their lives! That alone prompted me to run around with a gun!"

At this point, everybody within the whole radius of the two boys were listening on in the conversation, whether or not they wanted to. The two boys wished for nothing except for two things: One, for Isabella to recover, and two, for the conversation in question not to go down this road. Corey and Phineas both saw hearted hostility in each other's eyes and both knew collective caring for her hidden in each sentence they spouted.

Corey turned his back towards Phineas and huffed heavily, "If Isabella dies, it's on their heads."

"Whose? The cops or the criminals?"

"Both. If the cops don't catch 'em, then the criminals will. If the criminals don't, then I will."

"What's the difference?"

"For me...it's a win-win, a good price, a fair trade. All that matters is that Isabella is avenged. That's that."

With that, Corey turned tail and walked away from Phineas, Isabella's room, and the hospital as a whole, his point made clear. He wanted to go back home and wallow in his misery and pain, but somehow Isabella was the cure to his disease he was suffering from. He gripped the driving wheel, gritted his teeth, and huffed heavily once more. He was going to find the fuckers responsible and personally escort them to the gates of Tartarus itself.

"They burned your house."

Corey's head shot up and glanced outside his car. The girl leaning against the hood was mostly likely 15 years of age, judging by some of her physical appearance. Most of it was marred by her...whatever. She was wearing all black, punk-like clothes and her spiky hair was cut many multiple lengths throughout her head; her hair in questions was dyed multiple shades of pink with a hint of black, brown, and purple thrown in for good measure. Plus, she's smoking cigarettes and she's fashioning eyeliner. Too much of it, Corey thought before adding, My genre of gal...

Then he thought about what she said,

"Wait, what now?"

The girl puffed out smoke, "Don't make me repeat myself," before punctuating for emphasis, "They...burned...your...house."

Corey gradually took in the information before exiting his engine running car, "They?"

"The people who did this to Isabella. Sure, I condone the cataclysmic catastrophe that was inflicted on your house, but even I have standards." She dug into her pocket and pulled a folded fragment of paper, handing it over for Corey to read it over,

"I have arranged a place for you to stay for the time being."

Corey nodded in understanding and slipped the slip into his own pocket, "Thank you, but why are you doing this?"

The girl shrugged, "Like I said, even I have standards. Go."

Corey threw her an uncertain look before driving off, glancing at the girl in the rearview mirror. He eventually broke off and drove off to his destination. Once he was out of sight and sound, the girl's mentor appeared from the shadows. The girl had blue eyes, blue hair with purple streaks, light purple eyeliner, a black "witch's hat" style dress with a blue belt / matching buttons / purple long sleeves, a pair of purple leggings underneath a pair of black fishnet stockings, and a pair of black combat boots with matching fingerless gloves. Worn on the left-gloved hand was a pink diamond ring.

"Come..." Lacey smirked as she chambered a Glock 19, "We have work to do."