Lincoln Loud never meant to move in with his older sister Lynn, it just...happened.

Well, maybe that wasn't the best way to put it. Nothing in life just randomly happens, there's a cause; the Big Bang kicked off because space dust collected and mixed together like gunpowder, and Lincoln moving into Lynn's apartment because of a fire.

At nineteen. Lincoln was in his first second semester of colegedom (if that's a word) at Michigan State University, and Lynn, twenty-one, was in her second year. Lincoln was studying art and computer science with the hopes of becoming a comic book artist. Realistically, there was a slim chance of that ever happening, so he had computers to fall back on; a lot of art majors wind up working at Starbucks and begging for communism to rescue them from the crushing student loan debts they had voluntarily incurred, but the 'puter biz always had and always would be booming. Lynn was the star quarterback on the Amazons, the storied all-female football team. She was majoring in health and wellness with an aim toward becoming a personal trainer "on the off chance I don't go pro." She was convinced that she was a shoo-in for one of the few spots in one of the five WNFL teams and was only taking classes because she had to.

Every afternoon following their classes, he and Lynn met on the grassy commons and talked about their day, and every afternoon, Lincoln tried his best to make her understand that she probably wouldn't play pro ball. "You might, but it's a one in a million chance," he'd say.

"I'm a one in a million Loud," Lynn beamed and touched her thumb to her chest.

There was no getting through to her. Lincoln suspected that on some level, she knew she probably wouldn't actually go pro, but wouldn't admit it out loud for fear of jinxing herself or something. She was more than a little superstitious and probably believed in never entertaining negative thoughts lest they put out negative vibes or something. Lincoln had no idea what went through his older sister's head but he did know one thing: Lynn was determined. She worked harder, ran faster, and trained longer than anyone else. She woke up at 5am, every morning, and jogged around campus in gray sweats and a gray MSU hoodie (if you looked out your window, half awake, she looked like a ghost in the darkness). Next, she hit the on-campus gym and worked out for an hour or two before having breakfast. She had always been thin but since starting her current regimen, she had built an impressive amount of muscle mass. Lincoln couldn't see it but he could feel it when she hugged him or playfully punched his arm: She was strong.

After class, she and Lincoln met in their usual spot beneath an oak tree, then she went to practice. On days that she didn't have practice, she would jog, do push-ups, or run sprints, anything to get her heart pumping - anything to help her goal of one day being the most famous female football player alive. Lincoln couldn't help but be impressed by her energy: She seemed to have more now than she did when she was a kid. He asked her what her secret was, and she told him "Just do it."

Ok Nike.

She dragged him along on one of her morning jogs, and Lincoln made it ten steps before jogging his ass back to bed. He wasn't so different from Lynn in terms of personality - he, too, was driven, dedicated, and competitive - but in terms of disposition, the difference was like night and day. She went to bed early, slept well, and got up early; he stayed up late, couldn't wind down when he did go to bed, and woke up with only minutes to throw on his clothes and rush off to his first class. Lynn ate healthy; he ate fast food and potato chips. Lynn was always on the go, and her pace didn't slacken even after going for hours at a time; if Lincoln didn't have a class or need groceries, he shut himself up inside his dorm room and spent hours drawing on his tablet. Lynn couldn't even sit still long enough to take a shit but if you didn't bother him, Lincoln could camp on his ass for hours.

Again, despite all of those superficial differences, they were more alike than they weren't. Lincoln devoted every waking moment to improving his craft, and even though he knew he wasn't likely to become a famous and highly paid artist for Marvel or DC, he never said so out loud and planned to keep trying for as long as he drew breath. Lynn loved the game of football, Lincoln loved the game of creating art. She looked up to famous sports stars, he looked up to comic book artists and. They were both passionate about something and had been for a long time. They were both obsessed with pushing themselves and with excelling in their chosen field. Neither would give up even if they were clearly beaten, and neither backed down from a challenge.

Clyde, Lincoln's best friend, once pointed out that Lincoln's personality was a mix of his sisters' personalities. "You're like baking soda," Clyde said. "You put it in the fridge and it absorbs all the smells. Just like you."

At the time, Lincoln thought Clyde was full of shit, but then he started paying attention, and you know what? Clyde was right. Lincoln was in the absolute middle, five sisters one side and five on the other, each a sharply defined individual with their own unique mode, outlook, and flavor. Lola was arrogant, Lori was bossy, Leni was sweet and kind, Luan was funny, Lynn was competitive, Lucy was artistic, Lisa was thoughtful, Lana was rough and tumble, Luna loved music...was he forgetting anybody? Oh, himself. He was that strange confluence where a river meets the sea. Clyde called him a "Frankensetinian patchwork," Frankenstein, of course, being a creature cobbled together with body parts from many different corpses, and he wasn't wrong. Lincoln supposed his sisters had influenced him. The younger ones...well, maybe they didn't count. They were influenced by the older ones as well, in addition to being influenced by him.

A character in a sappy, overblown fan fiction might agonize in Lincoln's position - boo hoo I'm not my own person wah wah wah - but not him. He was his own person, just as Lynn, Luna, and Lisa were their own people, he had just been shaped by his surroundings. Everyone is who they are largely (but not solely) because of external influences. Your family, culture, and environment have a tremendous impact on what kind of person you become. That's just how human beings work. Sometimes it's a flaw, other times it's a boon.

But it is always so.

Whether he was the baking soda of the Loud fridge or not, Lincoln had never felt lacking as a person. In fact, when he stopped to think about it (which wasn't often), he figured he was a normal, well-rounded human being. He was adjusted, mentally and emotionally stable, and knew from experience that he could form lasting and meaningful social bonds. He dated in high school and for a while, maintained a long distance relationship with Ronnie Anne Santiago. He lost his virginity to Girl Jordan when he was fifteen and never got so nervous that he couldn't ask a girl out. Some guys can barely talk to women without blushing and stuttering like an idiot, but he wasn't one of them. He might blush and stammer a little when he was asking out a girl he really liked, but that was natural. Only a small minority of men don't feel a little anxiety when they're trying to win over a girl they like. If they didn't, they probably didn't really like her. They just liked the idea of doing her. Sex is cheap. If Lincoln only wanted to tap an ass, he wouldn't be nervous either. Why would he? The worst that could happen is she turns you down and forces you to find another chick to bang. If he liked her - not her tits and ass but her - he'd be at least a little nervous because he wouldn't be able to move on and easily find a girl like her.

You can find a girl all day long, those are a dime a dozen, but a Jordan or a Ronnie Anne only come along once in a while.

Thinking about Jordan hurt. Lincoln was smart enough to know that he was too young to know what true love was, but he was almost certain that it couldn't be much different from what he felt for Jordan. They were friends for years and Lincoln felt as comfortable around her as he did around one of his sisters. In a way, she reminded him of Lynn. That might sound strange on the face of it, but she was a lot like Lynn, and that put Lincoln at ease; even then he sensed that he and Lynn were more alike than it seemed. He didn't know about Jordan, but he even imagined anything would happen between them. It wasn't a slow burn, as far as he could tell; it wasn't any kind of burn. They were thirteen and full of hormones. He looked at girls, thought about girls, and touched himself to fantasies of girls. He supposed she did the same thing with boys. He never looked at Jordan that way and she probably never looked at him that way.

Then one summer afternoon, they were sitting on the floor in Jordan's bedroom and playing video games. Something funny happened on screen (Lincoln couldn't remember exactly what, even though it was without a doubt the single most important video game flub of his entire life) and they burst into laughter. They looked each other in the eyes and something clicked. Did it exist beforehand? Did it take a certain amount of time or the right confluence of events and atmosphere to spark? Lincoln didn't know, but he vividly remembered the light in her eyes, the cocky set of her smile. Her lips were pink and moist and her cheeks red. Her brow softened and her smile drained away, leaving her face sober and stricken. Lincoln could not recall who made the first move - maybe it was her, maybe it was him - but he cupped her cheek in his hand and their bodies drifted together, their tongues meeting with timid reservation. Lincoln had never kissed a girl before and had no idea what he was doing. His body led him just as Jordan's led her, the kiss growing more confident and their hands roaming curiously over one another's bodies. He shakily rubbed her tiny breasts through her shirt and she gently kneaded his crotch, her fingers tracing the outline of his dick.

They didn't go all the way that first time. Both wanted to but neither was quite ready yet. Matters of the heart, and the body, were new to them and they needed time to adjust like timid children wading into cold water. They picked their way along slowly, navigating the unknown and learning every mystery a boy and girl can learn together. She taught him everything she could about girls and he showed her everything he knew about boys. They ushered each other into adulthood, the blind leading the blind, and Lincoln was grateful to have had Jordan there to help him through that strange and awkward period in his life.

She moved away when they were sixteen and they fell out of touch. They were friends on Facebook and commented on one another's posts from time to time - she was based and redpilled and shared the most awesome Wojak memes - but that was it. Their moment in the sun had passed. They were older now and not the same people they were when they were fifteen. Lincoln cherished the time they had and the things they did, but the river of life flows ever on, and unless you cling to something, kicking and screaming, it carries you on. Jordan was what he wanted, and needed, at the time, but it was probably for the best that she left. If she hadn't, they might have done something stupid and wound up pregnant.

Fatherhood appealed to Lincoln as it must to all men in some way, shape, or form, but he wasn't ready to dive in just yet. He had to get an education and establish himself first. Once he had a high paying career and owned his own home, he'd be ready.

If, of course, he found the right woman. You don't just reproduce with anyone. That's a good way to wind up a frustrated alcoholic in a loveless and crumbling marriage like that dude in that movie. What was it called? Lincoln couldn't remember but the main characters were middle aged drinkers who were always mad and arguing with each other. It looked pretty shit, even though they were filthy rich. Lincoln would love to have a million dollars in the bank and to live in a freaking palace the way they did, but what good was any of that stuff when the atmosphere was always tense? If you can't come home and relax at the end of the day, what point was there to having a home at all?

Maybe he was idealistic, but Lincoln valued happiness above all else. That didn't mean he wanted to live in a VW bus down the river like a dirty hippie (he didn't), but he'd rather be happy and poor than rich and miserable. He was smart enough to know that money, and the financial security it brought, was a major part of happiness, but it wasn't everything. If you're constantly stressed over not having enough money, you won't be happy, but having money won't compensate for discontent in other aspects of life.

Say...being married to a woman who hates your guts and nags you as soon as you walk through the door.

Lincoln thought he would be happy with a simple life but he didn't know for sure. He was young and hadn't lived very much. Maybe once he finished school and began a career he'd change his mind. Maybe different things would make him happy in the future. Like he learned with Jordan, people change. For right now, he was happy and hopeful. He had his whole life ahead of him; it was a blank canvas and he could make of it anything he wanted. That was exciting. He could go anywhere and do anything. Tomorrow was his for the taking. It was like…

A Wonder-Ball.

Remember those? It was a hollow piece of chocolate shaped roughly like an egg. Each one had a different prize inside. Candy, stickers, dumb shit like that. The TV jingle said "I wonder what's in my Wonder-Ball" like every kid was waiting with bated breath to see what kind of chalky-ass candy they'd get this time. Maybe they did. Lincoln didn't. In fact, he couldn't remember even wanting a Wonder-Ball. Still, he could understand the appeal.

Anticipation.

Anticipation, not variety, is the spice of life. Having something to look forward to makes things a little sweeter. When he was a kid, the whole month of December was pure magic because every new decoration that sprang up, flake of snow that fell, and Christmas card that came in the mail increased his anticipation for the big day. By Christmas Eve, it was at fever pitch and he could barely sit still.

Once it was over and he opened his last present, he was always disappointed because reality could never live up to the anticipation. His future might not live up to the impossible promises his heart and mind made him, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he was happy and that was all that mattered. You have to take things one step at a time and live in the moment.

The only complaint he had beyond the normal college kid stuff - hating his homework load, always being tired from staying up late - was the homesickness. He missed his parents, he missed Royal Woods, and he missed his younger sisters. He missed his friends, he missed the taste of a cold Flippez on a hot day and the hot, greasy smell of smoke and charcoal wafting from the Burpin' Burger on Main Street. You can't just leave everything you've ever known and loved and not feel some kind of way. At least he couldn't. He didn't mope or cry about it, but he longed for the sights and scents of his childhood and the stately buildings of the MSU campus, all brick and ivy, depressed him because it was so unlike home.

That's where Lynn came in. His daily meetings with her began as two siblings bumping into each other on their way to class but became something more. Lynn was familiar. Lincoln had known her his whole life and even if they didn't share that special bond - both being cut from the same cloth - he would have enjoyed his time with her. Growing up, Lincoln was often at the mercy of his older sisters, who were bigger, stronger, and usually more cunning. They tricked, bullied, and guilted him into doing things for them (they also did it to each other). Luan made him listen to her trite and cliche comedy routine, Luna played him sour notes and breaking strings until his ears bled, and Leni, bless her heart, would model the same three outfits for him every single day, forgetting that she had done so the previous go around. Lynn, being a sports nut who couldn't function without bouncing at least one ball off her head a day, drafted him to play football and basketball with her. Though he wasn't exactly an athlete, Lincoln enjoyed playing sportsball with his older sister. Sports is manly and being around so many women, Lincoln craved anything that would prove and bolster his own masculinity. And what's more masculine than snatching a ball out of the air, stiff-arming a girl in the nose, and scoring a game-winning touchdown?

It was during those long, sweaty afternoons of tossing the ol' pigskin that Lincoln started to realize that he and Lynn weren't so different. She reached that conclusion too, he thought, and their relationship became more friendly. She would tease him and punch him in the air, he'd make fun of her for wearing a jockstrap "even though your dick is too small to get hurt" and yank her ponytail whenever he walked past her. Siblings who are close in age tend to fight and annoy the piss out of each other. Up until that revelation, he and Lynn were no different. After that, they were like best friends. They hung out, they talked, and they laughed. He hated comparing her to Jordan, but he couldn't help it; Lynn reminded him so much of Jordan that it was uncanny. Not just her personality, but the dynamic of their relationship. The only difference was their blood relation. Lincoln was not attracted to his sister nor she to him. Yeah, sometimes her cocky smile reminded him of Jordan's and his heart fluttered in his chest, and true, a few times he'd bend over to pick something up and Lynn's eyes would go to his butt, but that didn't mean anything.

He did wonder, however, if he was drawn to Jordan because of Lynn. They say that boys marry women like their mothers and that girls marry men like their fathers. It sounded some sick, psychosexual bullshit but it made sense. Your first exposure to the opposite sex is your mother or father. You learn from them what a man or woman should be and it makes such an indelible imprint on your psyche, for better or worse, that you subconsciously seek partners with similar qualities. Could it be that he was attracted to women who reminded him of Lynn? Like a Frreudian mother figure, Lynn had always been there. She was close to him in age and proximity, and that could very well have influenced what he looked for in women without him realizing it.

Maybe he was overthinking it. He had a habit of doing that. The human mind endlessly fascinated him and he occasionally psychoanalyzed himself and others for fun.

Whatever the case may be, he was very close to his sister Lynn, and had only grown closer to her during their time at MSU. They were on their own here. They both had friends but they had no relatives nearby but each other, and who knows, cares for, and understands you better than blood?

On the afternoon of October 25, Lincoln left Haveman Hall and stepped into a blast of cool wind. The gunmetal gray sky was low and threatened rain and the breeze blew orange and yellow leaves across the grassy commons. Courtly Georgian-style buildings lined the square and cobblestone pathways led from one citadel of learning to another like arteries crisscrossing a body. Students made their way here and there, and others milled around, talking or horseplaying with friends like high schoolers. A group of guys played Frizbee, which, for some reason, was extremely popular among frat boys, and elsewhere, a hippie wannabe with mangy blonde hair strummed an acoustic guitar and hummed to himself.

Four nights a week, Lincoln worked as a dishwasher at the campus cafeteria through an onsite job training program called Young Workforce America. YWA was dedicated to "preparing young people to compete in the modern job market while they work toward their chosen career goals" and put its members into menial and minimum wage jobs. The logic was that most kids who graduated college would have to hold a shit job until for at least a little while. The most you could make from a YWA-sanctioned job was eight dollars an hour, but there was no minimum number of hours you had to work. Some members worked in town, at McDonald's and K-Mart, and some worked on campus. Lincoln picked washing dishes on campus because he had just binge watched Kitchen Nightmares with Gordon Ramsey and thought restaurant work looked cool. He was wrong. It sucked. He walked out of there every night drenched to his knees, and his manager, a pint-sized lesbian named Cindy with glasses and a Moe Howard haircut, rode him like a rented scooter. Lincoln hated that bitch.

On Saturdays, he helped the campus maintenance team with landscaping and minor repairs like patching holes in walls and replacing broken door knobs. He picked that job for two reasons. One, he wanted a little extra money so he could shoulder some of the costs of his education (Mom and Dad paid everything). Two, he figured it would pay to learn general repairs. One day, he would have his own home and he needed to know how to take care of it. There was a class that taught that sort of thing, but it didn't pay.

The head of the maintenance department, an old redneck named Jimmy, had taken a liking to Lincoln and paid him a kingly sum of ten dollars an hour, two bucks more than he had to. You don't piss and moan like those other Gen Z faggots, Jimmy said once. Lincoln took that as a compliment, because honestly, a lot of his classmates were whiny and entitled. He didn't know if that was a generational thing or just a natural mode for some early twentysomethings. He and his sisters weren't like that, and neither were any of the kids he grew up with. To be fair, Royal Woods was a working class town and its people salt of the earth types who were lower middle class at best. A lot of the other kids at MSU came from wealthier families and had never faced adversity before, so the moment things didn't go their way, they melted down because they didn't know how to suck it up. They'd learn, though.

Today, Lincoln's shift at the dish mines started at six. It was three now. He had no idea what to do with the three hours he had free. Maybe he'd spend it all with Lynn. Or maybe he'd draw something on his tablet. He had an idea he wanted to try out.

Tucking his books under his arm, he started toward his and Lynn's usual spot. On the way, he met a couple of his friends. First was Roger, a lanky man with glasses and a goatee. He worked as a cook at the cafeteria and was studying to be a chef. He reminded Lincoln of Shaggy from Scooby-Doo only less likeable. Lincoln got along with him fine, but when he was on the clock. Roger meant business. If you were slow getting an order to him or taking a dirty pan, he'd yell and cuss. He did that to everyone. From what Lincoln could ascertain, that's just how chefs were. "You work tonight?" Lincoln asked, slowing.

"I better," Roger said.

Cindy, who seethed over the way Roger snapped at her, seemed reluctant to fire him because he was so good at what he did, but she wasn't above messing with his schedule. Maybe she wanted him to quit? Who the hell knew?

Next up was Amanda Morgan from Lincoln's art class. A mousy girl with frizzy blonde hair, she hugged her books to her chest and always looked nervous, like she expected someone to jump out of the wings and yell BOO. Amanda was quiet and withdrawn, the kind of girl who kept to herself and didn't talk unless you talked to her first, and even then only with great anxiety and reluctance. Lincoln had gotten to know her when they were paired together for a project the previous semester. They spent a month working long hours in her dorm, the library, and the cafeteria on a design for a Black Lives Matter mural, with the best one being installed on the side of the art building. They didn't win but they made an A and that was the best Lincloln could hope for. During their work, they talked and chatted. She didn't tell him her life story or open up to him in any sort of intimate way, but she was still more open and comfortable with him than she was most other people, so as far as Lincoln was concerned, they were friends.

A supposition strengthened every time their paths crossed on campus. "Hey," she said brightly. "On your way to work?"

"Not yet," Lincoln said. "I'm gonna go hang with my sister and maybe draw something later."

"Sounds cool. See you."

"Later."

That wasn't much of an interaction but for someone who probably suffered from social anxiety the way Amanda did, it meant something.

Five minutes after leaving Haveman Hall, Lincoln spotted the oak tree he and Lynn had colonized as their own, its barren branches spread out like a hand reaching from a shallow grave. The woman, the myth, the legend, the Lynn, sat underneath it with her knees drawn to her chest and her phone in her hands. She wore a pair of gray sweat pants, a white T-shirt, and a red head band. Her face was flushed and her bangs were plastered to her sweaty forehead; she panted like a dog who'd just chased a rabbit five miles back to its whole, and took a drink of water as Lncoln walked up. "Go for a run?" Lincoln asked as he sat beside her.

"Nah, I played b-ball with some dudes at the gym," she said. "They went hard. Obviously, I went harder." She poked her chest proudly with her thumb and donned a big, cocksure grin. "Have fun drawing stick figures?"

"I had a blast," Lincoln said. "I drew you."

Lynn perked up. "Yeah? Did you capture my awesomeness?"

"No, but I captured your stink lines."

She punched him in the arm and he shoved her away. "That's the smell of greatness," she said. "I wouldn't expect you to recognize it."

"Smells more like pits to me."

"Yeah? It happens when you get off your ass and live a little. I wouldn't stink either if I sat there drawing anime porn all day."

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "When have you ever seen me draw anime porn?"

"All day. You're obsessed."

That was not true. Lincoln had totally drawn porn in the past, but never 'anime porn.' He didn't even like anime. The style was too cute. He preferred darker and grittier pieces, like the old school Batman comics. The themes and storylines didn't have to be dark and heavy, but he didn't want brightly-lit cartoony crap. When he was younger he liked that sort of thing, but now, as a grown man, he valued realism in art.

"Sure I am, Lynn."

"You need to find a girlfriend to do that stuff with," Lynn said.

"I'm not in the market for a girl right now," Lincoln said. "I'm worried more about making money and getting good grades."

Lynn snorted. "What a nerd."

"We can't all have a full sports scholarship like you," Lincoln pointed out. "Though you still have to get good grades. What are you pulling these days? Fs? Ds?"

A group of people in black, their faces hidden behind bandanas, passed on the walkway leading to Hellman House, signs in their hands. They chanted antifascist and anti-Israel slogans. Lincoln and Lynn both stopped to watch them file past. The MSU chapter of Antifa was very active, fighting fascism by attacking political opponents, running off conservative speakers, and defacing the Young Republicans' headquarters. "Cs and Bs," Lynn said when they were gone. "I don't get bad grades like you."

"I thought I was a nerd."

"Yeah, but not a very good one."

"So that makes you a better nerd."

Lynn opened her mouth to reply, but realized she had shittalked hersellf into a corner. Lincoln laughed and nudged her. "Congrats on being a bigger nerd than I am," he said.

"I'm not a bigger nerd," she recovered, "I'm just smarter."

Lincoln blew a raspberry.

After he and Lynn said farewell for the day - by punching each other in the arm - Lincoln walked through the gathering autumn gloom, leaves falling around him like embers from a great, celestial fire. His dorm was tucked into the southwest corner of the campus, a tall, narrow building with casement windows and a rusted fire escape zigzagging down the rear wall. Inside, it resembled a tenatment more than a dormitory: A set of stairs accessed the upper floors and a bank of cubby mailboxes covered the far wall. A handwritten OUT OF ORDER sign was taped to the elevator and had been since Lincoln moved in.

The air was hazy as if with smoke, and Lincoln's eyes stung. He took a whiff of the air and knitted it brows. It smelled like -

As if on cue, the fire alarm went off, its bell-like clang ringing through the building like the world's biggest wind up alarm clock.

Uh-oh.

For a second Lincoln was rooted in place. All of his shit - his tablet, his laptop, his clothes - was in his room and he couldn't easily replace them. He couldn't just let it all burn.

Before he could dash up the stairs, a flood of residents swept down, streaming past him on either side. He got caught up in the wave of humanity and was pushed through the door, stumbling and nearly falling. Outside, sirens wailed and all of the kids on the commons rushed over to see what was going on. Lincoln fought his way through the crowd, intent on going back in, but came to a halt: Thick black smoke belched from the door and blew across the commons. More smoke poured from second story windows, and in one of them, Lincoln distinctly saw a flash of orange fire. His heart sank into his chest and his knees went weak. His room was on the fourth floor, which seemed to be safe...for now.

Everyone talked excitedly over each other and restlessly watched as the smoke got denser and darker. The sirens swelled, and a moment later, a fire truck appeared, moving slowly along an access road between two dorms like a ship navigating treacherous waters. It rolled across the commons, its big tires tearing up the grass, and the crowd parted. A team of firemen in full gear jumps out and set about putting the blaze out. Another fire truck arrived minutes later, followed by an ambulance and several police cruisers. Lincoln threaded his fingers helplessly through his hair and silently urged the firefighters to hurry up before the fire reached his floor.

Eventually, it did. His room was on the far right. On the far left, a window blew out in a shower of glass and flames curled over the edge of the roof, their hungry crackle audible even over the din of noise filling the commons. Lincoln's heart leapt into his throat and he started to shake. No, no, no.

By the time his shift at the cafeteria started, the fire had been mostly contained. It didn't seem to have reached his room, but he couldn't be sure, and as he hurried across campus, his chest throbbed with anxiety. The only things he was really worried about were his laptop and his tablet. He had notes and schoolwork saved on the former, and without the latter, he wouldn't be able to draw. He could use paper and a pen but most of his school assigned art projects had to be done digitally.

The cafeteria was packed with people when he got there. He went in through a side door that opened onto the kitchen. The air was hot and stuffy and the mingled smells of a dozen different foods assaulted his nose. Staff rushed around like headless chickens and before Lincoln got to his station, he could hear Roger cussing.

As expected, the dish pit was a mess and dirty trays were stacked fifteen deep. He put on a plastic apron that would do little to protect his clothing and hustled over to the sink, knowing from hard won experience that it would be filled with pans, skillets, and other implements that needed to be done first, and quickly, if the kitchen were to continue functioning. Dishwashers are the unsung heroes of places like this - without them, everything grinds to a halt.

When he was done, he ran the pots and pans over to the line and left them on a metal table for Roger or one of his underlings to either use or put away. Most of the cookware was stored on a shelf beneath the line and if Lincoln went back there, he'd be in everyone's way.

Next, he sprayed the trays off and ran them through the machine.

He was so busy playing catch up that he didn't get a break for nearly two hours. He went out onto the loading dock and leaned over the railing. From here, he could just make out his building. On the fourth floor, firefighters went from room to room with flashlights, the beams shaking and flashing like muzzle fire. Lincoln waited to see if they would go into his room, but one of the cooks stuck his head out the door. "We're getting really busy again."

Sighing, Lincoln went back to the dish pit and lost himself in an onslaught of trays, plates, and cookery. It was only later on, as things began to wind down for the night that something occurred to him.

Where was he going to live now?