Spider-Man

by The Skimmend Milk

15 year old Lincoln Loud gains supernatural powers. He must accept the responsibility that comes with harnessing such great power, especially after a new evil arises. However the stress from living a double life as a superhero leads him to question whether he really wants to take this path.

1. Meeting Fates

A/N: Well this is the beginning of my "project." After a 14,000 word draft, then another 7,000 words from a shit ton of editing, here's what hopefully is the final version. It's pretty long for a first chapter, so fasten your seatbelt! Hope you enjoy it.

I'm really hoping that I don't give up on this one, as I've created a storyboard for this (I might change some things for a bit of creativity.. who knows?) and everything, it would be a shame if I gave up on this. Honestly, considering how long it takes me to work on these chapters (if you'd even consider them chapters...), I hope people actually put up with my slow updating. It's been a hell of a ride getting this first part done! Update: Made the first line a bit more interesting, oh and Chapter 2 draft is done, and being edited, by the way...

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Full/Extended Summary

15 year old Lincoln Loud gains supernatural powers. He must accept the responsibility that comes with harnessing such great power, especially after a new evil arises. However the stress from living a double life as a superhero leads him to question whether he really wants to take this path.

Meanwhile, Herman Robern, a man who struggles financially and mentally, is led down a dark path after being pushed beyond his boundaries. He essentially creates his inner demons, and gets manipulated into believing that wrong is right. His only hope is his greatest creation... but can that even snap him out of it ?

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Chapter 1: Meeting Fates

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Today's Date: April 6th, 2020 - 8:43 a.m. (ET)

Today was a day that would forever change the lives of two unsuspecting individuals—arguably for the better—or for the worse.

Presently it's a beautiful day at the Detroit headquarters of Herman Industries—the morning sun warms the grand corporate building, and the letters which stretch down its face spell the company's name in a bright green serif font. It's a high-rise building, covered with a plethora of dark-tinted windows. Inside, the chief executive officer, Herman Robern, oversees the testing of prototype gear, made to accompany a newly developed super soldier serum.

"It looks great." resounds Herman. "Also, everything seems to function as intended."

Ahead of him is a large display; a metal glider loaded with different functions and tools, hovers overhead, with any dangerous weapon being disabled. Built-on guns and missile launchers were deprived of ammunition. The glider is suspended mid air, using the power of small turbofans and rockets. Wires restrain the glider from flying around. They're attached to a platform with built-in computers, used to record the results of the experiment, while other scientists in the room observe. On the glider is an employee, decked out with prototype armor and strapped to the glider's surface with iron restraints. Each foot is nestled into small, foot-sized indents in the metal. The armor, designed to absorb impacts, temperature and pressure, is made out of a green-tinted material. Small tanks of oxygen are built into the back of the suit, which can be refilled or replaced. The headpiece is the only thing out of the picture, which alerts Herman. He questions his assistant, Dr. Carson, who happens to be monitoring the experiment.

"Dr. Carson. Where's the helmet? It's an essential piece of the armor. Otherwise, we'll never be sure the oxygen tanks are properly wired."

"We encountered some... issues with it. We had it put under maintenance." Dr. Carson replies. "We got some officials working on it right now."

"Wait, what? What was the problem? Have you identified it yet?" Herman asks.

"The lights on the top weren't properly connected." states Dr. Carson. "Our engineers were very apologetic though, and they plan to repair it as soon as they can."

"Alright, that'll do for now." says Herman. "Ask them to have it ready for tomorrow so we can do a test with the helmet."

Dr. Carson turns back to keep track of the experiment. "Got it... but Mr. Robern, shouldn't we be focusing on finishing the serum? We haven't begun the trials yet, and if we fail to do so, the military will be furious with us, and might cut the contract, which will bring the company down with it." Dr. Carson says.

"Yes, Dr. Carson. That thought's been keeping me up at night, but the thing is, we were given such a small window of time to get this finished." Herman raises his voice a little. "You can't expect us to make a scientific breakthrough at this scale, in just a couple of years!" Dr. Carson raises his hand to calm him down, but Herman shoos it away. "It's just... we need to finalize a few things before we get started. Let's not stress this out." concurs Herman.

Herman Industries was once a giant in the science realm. But now, after its many years in service, it was left to stand on its last legs. The company is currently reliant on a contract with the military, and a "super soldier serum" is expected to be finished today. Unfortunately, they're behind schedule. A lot is on the line—if the deal is cut off, the company will head straight to bankruptcy. The company's CEO, Herman Robern, is expecting the arrival of the army general, who will discuss an extension of the contract.

"Hello, Mr. Robern." says a familiar voice. "We need to talk."

Herman looks in the direction of the noise—two high-security doors were opened by his employees, using their security cards. They walk in unison with a large man, who's wearing an olive-drab overcoat, escorting him throughout the building. It's the army general.

"General Welson." greets Herman, "Good to see you."

The army general looks at him sternly. "We need to get down to business."

The two men go to a secluded part of the large laboratory, free from the crowd of scientists. An array of computers and glass chambers resting on marble countertops fill this section, each one being meticulously placed according to their purpose. Herman's heart starts beating faster, as the fear of failing his company kicks in at full force. To the latter, it felt like four surrounding walls were closing in on him.

"Yes, yes I know. We've been a bit behind schedule, there's been a few issues during the development of the glider and armor-" says Herman.

"Mr. Robern. The armor and glider should be your last priority. The contract is in regards with the serum, not your gadgets." converses General Welson. "Don't get me wrong, we're interested in the equipment, but we can't put someone on that glider if the serum doesn't even work."

Herman sighs. He's pissed off and tries his best to hide it—who does that man think he is, to rush work which requires that much attention?

"We'll make sure to start developing the serum. Please, if you extend the contract for another month, I promise we will have doses ready." insists Herman.

General Welson shakes his head in disdain. "Listen Mr. Robern. I already extended the contract, six months ago! I'm not willing to continue funding your projects if we aren't getting our part of the deal. We've put a lot of money into this project and, at this rate, we should already have the serum."

"I assure you. Just one more month and we'll be able to fulfill our part." pleads Herman.

"No. Mr. Robern. I'm not going to extend the contract again. Instead, I'm going to look for another company who can actually do their part." General Welson says. He watches as the color drains from Herman's face. "If you don't step up, our money won't be going towards this project any longer. And this time, I promise, I won't give you another chance."

"General Welson, I promise that I can get it finalized by..." Herman needs to concentrate and think quickly, but the utter lack of hope makes that impossible, and he fails to collect his thoughts. "It'll all be finished by t-th-the end of the week! Can you extend the contract for just one more week?"

General Welson sighs. "Alright, fine. But if you don't get it finished by the end of the week, I'm going to sign with someone else." And with everything established, the army general departs, to extend the contract once more. However, the reality of the one week contract is out of touch, considering their current stance on the serum's development. "Meet me at the office to sign the contract," booms the general's voice from afar.

Herman Robern stands there, bewildered. He had just made a near-impossible promise, one that cannot be fulfilled safely. His assistant, Dr. Carson, notices the absence of the army general, prompting him to inquire about the contract's circumstances. Herman leans against the smooth countertop, using his hands to hold himself up, the cold marble pressing against his palms. The sight of Dr. Carson coming his way alarms him.

"What do you need, Drew?" wonders Herman, addressing Dr. Carson by his surname.

"How did it go?" asks Dr. Carson. "What's the fate of Herman Industries?"

"Please. We'll talk about it later. I'm feeling sick to my stomach. I need to meet General Welson at the office in a few minutes to sign the contract extension."

"Wait… so the company is not going down the toilet? Why do you feel sick then?"

"The contract extension only lasts a week. If we don't finalize the serum and start distribution by then, the company will die. Plus, those gliders won't sell without the serum so take those out of the question."

"Well, we can't finalize it without a successful human trial, but jumping straight to human trials isn't a good option, Mr. Robern. I really have no idea what to do. Does General Welson even know where we are on the serum's development?"

"I'm afraid he hasn't checked in a while. I made a promise to fulfill our part of the contract by the end of the week and I have no choice but to find a way."

"Well, you need to go tell him that it won't work. I'd prefer he just cuts the contract, rather than him waiting and getting mad at us again. You're the one who made the promise, Herman. I'm going to finish monitoring the glider."

The company's downfall had begun.

Herman Robern had only just started his financial struggles. The company's financial health had been deteriorating for the past few years; the contract with the military served as their bread and butter ever since. But now, the company's failure to meet the contract's requirements was putting it on the brink of bankruptcy. Herman's unrealistic promise needed to be met in order for the company to thrive again.

The negative outcomes start to play out in Herman's head: lose the contract… lose your house… lose all your hard-earned assets… all while being a single father. He angrily slams his fist onto the countertop he was leaning on, causing loose objects to rattle and tip over.

"I need to do something." thinks Herman. "I can't lose my business. If I lose my business, I lose everything."

An idea sparks in Herman's mind. He shifts his head to the right and the equipment built for the serum's testing comes into view. A large chamber and it's monitoring stations take up a large portion of the room. Every single piece of equipment there was built in anticipation for the day of the first serum test.

He walks over to the large glass chamber, which is built on iron framing. Through the glass is a large motorized platform used to secure a test subject, with wheels and rails to guide it in-and-out. There are computers to the right of the chamber, with the purpose of managing the future experiment's data. Next to one sits a metal chamber, built against a wall and locked by a keypad. It takes the appearance of a metal crate, but after Herman unlocks it by punching in a series of numbers, the sides unfold while the top remains stationary. Inside, there are four tubes filled with a viscous green substance.

"Maybe... I do know what to do." declares Herman, grabbing one of the glass cylinders.

Dr. Carson returns from the glider to find Herman, who holds a tube of the super soldier serum in his hand.

"You can't possibly be thinking of using that stuff on yourself, right?" queries Dr. Carson.

"Well, maybe this is the best choice of action. We've been working on this project for years, I'm sure this will go accordingly. All those countless, sleepless nights aren't amounting to nothing."

He returns the tube of serum to its support and locks the metal case. The case's mechanisms whir as the metal plates shift back into position.

"Meet me here, 9 o'clock tonight." demands Herman, while he makes a run for the laboratory's exit. "It's time we step up!"

"Where are you going?!"

"To sign the contract."

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A young adolescent sits at his high school desk, where he collects a notebook and a few pencils from his biology binder. An entomology paper dogged him for days, and a planned field trip had given him the opportunity for some interactive research. Today was the day! The Genetics Laboratory of Detroit (GLOD) was constantly expanding their research on all types of organisms, and their entomology section was nothing short of popular. The class was heading there for a few lessons on different types of insects and how their bodies function. The boy, who had just prepared his materials, spots someone entering the classroom from the corner of his eye, and he glances up. It was his teacher.

"Good morning everyone! I hope you've all been well... especially when you have me as a teacher." Mr. Nicolas greets, laughing a little at his witty remark. "As you all should know we're going to the GLOD today… Hopefully, this trip will take some of the weight off your backs, because we'll be learning a lot of useful information, so make sure to bring the right supplies for note-taking! We'll do the roll call, then we'll pack up and head out."

The boy grabs his notebook, the pencils now sticking out amidst the pages in a bookmark fashion. As his teacher cycles through the attendance list, he listens to his peers reply with the usual "here!" and "present!"

"Lincoln Loud?" Mr. Nicolas calls out loud.

"Here, sir. Good morning." the white-haired boy answers.

Lincoln adjusts himself, and sits sideways in anticipation for their departure. Unfortunately, he can't help the stiff feeling of awkwardness. He takes a quick glance at Arnold Sawyer, one of his bullies, and he looks back sharply, almost as if he felt his presence. He wore a smug grin, reminiscent of a traumatizing encounter the two had. Uncomfortable, Lincoln averts his piercing gaze without hesitation, trying to brush him off. There's no doubt that Arnold instills a lot of fear into his victims.

Lincoln's unfamiliar with the majority of his classmates, and tends to be socially awkward around new people. Given that his white hair is all-natural, he gets a lot of stares from his peers—good and bad. Sadly, his friends from elementary school were stuck in different classes; they figured that always sticking together was a dream too far-fetched, and chose programs in accordance with their interests. Even though everyone had accepted the decision, it still bothers Lincoln, considering his current situation.

Be that as it may, he has one person who's more than willing to brighten the mood, and that's his friend from the first day of high school: Birtz Robern. He sits at a desk in the bottom left corner of the room. The two sit at opposite sides of the room, Lincoln sitting in the far right corner. For the past six months they've been the bestest of friends, and luckily, Birtz has been as loyal as a dove.

"Birtz Robern?"

"Present."

Mr. Nicolas snaps the attendance booklet shut. "Alright guys, everyone showed up on time so we'll be leaving in... I'd say the next couple minutes." He pauses for a moment to set the attendance booklet down, then advises everyone, "Make sure to get ready; don't forget to gather some materials for notes and shut off any devices in advance!" The moment Mr. Nicolas finishes his sentence, the entire classroom is abruptly filled with the sound of chairs and desks being pushed, the sound of students' chatter soon following. Amid the chaos, Lincoln spots Birtz approaching him from the side, maneuvering through the crowd of students.

"Hey Linc," Birtz stands right in front of Lincoln face-to-face, resting his hand on the desk's wooden surface to lean in a cool fashion. "Ready for the field trip?"

Lincoln captures Birtz's apparel: a large black hoodie, zipped down to reveal a plain white t-shirt. He's also wearing light blue denim jeans, which stretched down until his ankles, exposing white socks that accompanied red and white basketball shoes. Birtz isn't an amazing basketball player, mostly wearing basketball shoes for the looks, but he can still put up a good fight. His dark brown hair is messy yet tidy, being fixed up in it's usual fashion. The white-haired boy has often joked that Birtz's hair, "Kicks more ass than the bullies at school."

Lincoln jokes, "Um, totally not. Why would I want to go in the first place? It's not like I've been ripping my hair out trying to write this paper!" The two share a quick giggle before Birtz addresses the entomology project again.

"So, have you even started yet?"

"No, but I've got a pretty good layout for it. An epic paper which explores the principles of insects, including genetically modified ones and their role in science. I'd probably separate it in 3 different sections: different insects' basic functions, why insects are divided into different groups and their impact on the environment and science."

"Cool! For my paper I plan on… uh.." Birtz falters, and watches as Lincoln shakes his head in disdain. "I'm not sure at all."

Lincoln grumbles, "Dude, seriously? Not even one thought or note on it? You realize we don't have that much time to work on it... right?"

"Yes, of course I know there's not a lot of time to work on it! Look man, I had a few basketball games, and they seriously hinder my schedule." counters Birtz. "So I didn't have any time to."

"That's just another bold faced lie." chuckles Lincoln. "Since when do you play on a basketball team?! I've never heard you say anything about it, and there's no hint that you even play basketball, apart from your shoes." He gestures to Birtz's feet. "And if you really do, what's your team name and what team did you play against."

"Well, I can't say anything. Of course I don't play." admits Birtz, defeated. He stares at the floor jokingly, mocking the actions of someone racked with shame. "We should sign up for the summer team. We've got the height and potential."

Lincoln found himself to be anything more than the sport-type. If you asked him to describe his physical build in three words, it would be "frail, skinny and weak."

"Buddy, you should know that I'm anything but an athlete. I'm so flimsy, most of my weight is from my height." deflects Lincoln. "I wouldn't survive on the court. I'm better off playing video games, and staying in my room all day."

The white haired boy had grown to a slender five feet, ten inches tall over the past couple years, but he's still the skinny kid who can't fight to save his life. Many other changes happened over the years too, such as Lincoln gaining a passion for science and math, ultimately making them his best subjects.

"No, I think you are just fine. You could knock some sense into some of those punks who keep picking on you." insists Birtz, giving Lincoln a sense of hope. "You'd be great on the court, I promise! We just need to practice a bit, that's all. Maybe even work out! You know, gain that muscle and bulk up!" Birtz brings his forearm closer to his upper arm and decreases the angle between the two, 'flexing' his bicep and letting out a huge grunt. Lincoln laughs at the sight. "Heh, just kidding around."

"Dream on bud..." taunts Lincoln. They both share a quick chuckle before the teacher clears his throat to make a class announcement. He walks to the middle of the room and waves his arms up and down, which catches the eyes of many students.

"Ahem-hem-hem! Alright everyone, settle down. We are leaving now and everyone follow me. We'll go to the main entrance and there will be buses waiting for us in the front parking lot. Try not to be disruptive because people are working nearby."

Everyone in the class obeys the teacher, following him out the door. However, the students who exit the classroom end up forming a messy clump of students blocking the hallway. The teacher takes note and raises his voice in an attempt to get everyone in order.

"GUYS! Everyone please keep in order, stay together and don't block the hallways. If someone passes by, and we're moving around like this, they'll get run over by a thousand buffalos!" Most of the students comply, and try to squeeze into a single file, but some students awkwardly stick out of the line. A few students even ignored the teacher's instructions and continued to yap away with their friends.

As the line came to a standstill, Birtz moved up the line to stand beside Lincoln, who looked unfazed.

"This is so embarrassing. We are walking by classrooms with their door wide open and I bet everyone will be staring at this mass of students in the hallway. Oh my goodness, I can almost feel people staring into my soul, it's like piercing into my heart, dude." Birtz says, in a whispery tone. He was trying to get a few laughs out of his friend, but Lincoln never answered, he just stared at the neighboring wall. "Lincoln? Hey, snap out of it."

Lincoln shook his head left and right in a quick swift motion. Something had been bothering him for a while, and it had slipped into his mind, causing him to suffer from a great deal of unease. He snapped himself away from his thoughts, his concerns and his feelings. At this point, they were starting to pester him, so the white-haired boy decided to shed some light on them.

"Sorry Birtz. There's something that's been bothering me since the beginning of the school year. It's got to do with..." Lincoln sighs and stares at the ground, while his friend starts to question him.

"What's up? What's it got to do with?"

The white haired boy perks his head up.

"I feel like I'm going to lose my friends…" admits Lincoln. Birtz stares at his friend in disbelief, not believing the words that came out of his mouth.

"Wait.. what, why, why?!" sputters Birtz, "You're a great guy. I would never leave you in the dust, and I'm certain your other friends wouldn't either. What's making you feel this way? I'm genuinely confused..."

Lincoln stares at his friend with empty eyes. "It's not... you, Birtz. It's specifically the friends who go way back to elementary." Birtz nods his head, giving Lincoln the impression that he's listening. "You should see how they act now compared to before. Nowadays, when, or even if, I get to the table in the cafeteria, everyone seems so… emotionless. The only time there'd be a happy vibe was when something exciting was going on. We used to be the team who solved mysteries together, who forgave each other after any mistake, who were always.. together. Man, if you saw what we were like before, you'd be surprised!"

"Wow, uh... that sounds complicated? I wonder what's going on with them. Are you sure it's not just the high school environment?" queries Birtz. Lincoln feels glad that his friend wants to give him a sense of support. He's not surprised anyways—he's grown to know Birtz as an understanding and caring person.

"Yeah, no. I'm almost certain that's not the case. This stupid problem's been active since grade eight, last year of middle school." sighs Lincoln. He briefly looks away. "I just got to find out what I did to cause this mess." Birtz is almost taken aback by this statement. "It-"

"Dude what?!" puzzles the brown-haired adolescent. "That's bologna! I'm just going to let you know, there's no way this is your fault. I doubt it has anything to do with you personally... How could you even think like that? It's not healthy to always pin the blame on yourself."

"I don't know man." Lincoln says. He returns Birtz's gaze. "Just feels like I have something to do with it. Maybe it's guilt from causing things in the past. But maybe you're right, and it's just us being bombarded with schoolwork."

"It depends," states Birtz. "How have they been keeping up during summers? I mean, the burden of schoolwork is gone, so the only other reason to be bailing on your friends are extracurriculars and summer school."

"Summer goes a bit better. We'd hang out as a group on occasion, but when someone misses out, all the sudden they're the 'worst' because they bailed out on our already limited time together. But, that is pretty rare." says Lincoln.

"Sounds like the separation from classes are really putting you guys on edge." suggests Birtz. "Perhaps you guys need to adapt to the changes and hang out more on weekends. Also, maybe your guys' schedules are messy during the school year and you can't find ways to hang out without everyone being busy. Communicate your schedules and organize them properly. Problem solved, no last minute delays."

"Wow, I haven't thought about the schedule part. Man, I wouldn't be surviving out here without you by my side. You're really trying to be my therapist." says the white-haired boy, thanking his best friend. Birtz doesn't hesitate to offer his friend a high-five, to which Lincoln immediately accepts. "Wait a minute, what if the teacher assigns something at the last minute?"

"Well in that case, you can just mark the time when you want to work on it on your schedule. Worst case scenario, cancel anything that isn't important. If it's something easy, no problem. Just work on it as soon as you can." suggests Birtz. He tries to go on with his advice, but a student standing behind them gives the two nerdy teens a nudge. They immediately turn around to see a kid standing behind them, seemingly pissed off.

"You morons, stop doing your nerd talk. The line is moving forward and you two are just standing here like imbeciles." the annoyed kid condemns. Lincoln and Birtz turn back around, and realize that Mr. Nicolas has given the students the go-ahead to move forward.

While the pair of friends pick up their pace to catch up with the students up ahead, Birtz quickly whispers to his buddy, "We'll continue on the bus. I'm no good at talking on-the-go. I'd end up running into a wall or something."

Meanwhile, as the two loyal teenagers continue to grow their friendship, Clyde McBride sits at a table in his visual arts class with two others, contemplating whether his friendship with his long-time best friend will last any longer. Problems arose around the last year of middle school: their hangouts had become void of emotion, and crowded and messy schedules got in the way of their hangouts. Then high school came along. A few of their friends chose different programs, causing even more separation. But, whenever he could, Clyde would see in his best friend's eyes, that this was bothering him the most. If anybody knew Lincoln the best, it was him. The two were known for having the best bromance in elementary school, but his grip on it is starting to loosen. He tries to hold on tight, but it keeps slipping away as conflict within the friend group is constant and damaging the friend circle.

"I'm not giving up this easily!" Clyde thinks. "I have a plan to bring us closer together. I'll do it for Lincoln, for all of us."

The teen pulls out his sketchpad full of drawings, and flips through the thick pages, each being occupied by a drawing, a sketch or a concept art. Not until near the middle of the sketchpad is a blank page found. Clyde starts jotting down a few ideas on how to keep their friendship on par. Clyde's friend, who's one of the two sitting at the table, takes a quick glance at the teen and sees that he's writing down notes instead of drawing; something that isn't required in this class, or needed at the moment.

"Clyde... whatcha doin? Taking notes in art class?" the teen questions. Clyde looks up to get a view of his friend, who sports a thick orange shirt and black track pants. His curly orange hair is extremely messy, similar to the way someone's hair would look when they get out of bed. He raises his right eyebrow; questioning his friend.

"Don't mind me, Rusty." replies Clyde. He's as nerdy as his white-haired friend, wearing large circle glasses, a blue zip-up hoodie over a yellow comic book t-shirt and black jeans. "I just have some... concerns to address." Rusty doesn't buy his friend's excuse.

"Check it out dawg." whispers Rusty, nudging the shoulder of the kid beside him. It's Zach, another friend who's part of the group. He was in the middle of sketching when Rusty nudged him, causing Zach to accidentally screw up his work. He looks up and gives Rusty a strong glare, annoyed. He's wearing a turquoise polo shirt, blue jeans and large glasses. "Clyde's taking notes on the class… when nothing has been taught today yet."

"Shut up." shoots Zach, gesturing to the apparent scribble on his drawing. "You ruined my sketch, just look at what you did!" Rusty flinches a bit at his sudden outburst.

"Cool it, Zach. It's not even that big of a mark, stop overreacting." insists Rusty. He gestures to the scribble, which barely covers half an inch of the drawing. "You can easily just erase that small part and reconnect it."

Zach calms down a bit.

"Yeah, I can see that. No biggie, sorry for going psycho on you." apologizes Zach. "So what were you going on about? Clyde taking notes in art class?"

"Yeah, he's such a dweeb." taunts Rusty. "I wouldn't be surprised if he has a binder on physical education, or even one for our lunch break." The two teens share a laugh, while Clyde gives them a death stare, one that was even distinguishable through his glasses. Of course, his friends are only joking, something that happened a lot during art class; there were plenty of times where they would find ways to make fun of each other's work, apparel or mistakes. Most groups of friends in the school loved to have pissing contests.

"Let's see what he's writing down. Come on, let me see it." goads Zach. Clyde shakes his head in refusal, to Zach's annoyance.

"No. Give me a second to finish writing this down." the teen says. The redhead shows no sign of backing down, so he decides to take Clyde's plea literally. No, he doesn't let Clyde finish writing, instead he counts down from one.

"One." jokes Zach. "There you go, I gave you a second." With a sly grin, the redhead rests his hand on the smooth, wooden table and forcibly pushes himself to reach Clyde, who sits directly across from him. He slaps his hand on the sketchbook and pulls it towards him, causing the page to crinkle. Clyde watches as his friend plops back down into his chair and clasps the book, adjusting it so he can read what's on the page. He doesn't fight back to regain it's possession to avoid the risk of damaging the pages even more.

"Am I a joke to you? You know what, whatever. Fine…" sighs Clyde. "Go ahead and take a look. But you won't get anything out of it." The teen reluctantly watches as Zach scans over Clyde's writings. The redhead looked like he was on the verge of bursting out in laughter. To Clyde, this was clearly the end of his plan. He anticipated the sound of his friend's annoying laughter, and that's exactly what ensued. Zach bursts into a fit of hysterics.

"Look Rust, Clyde thinks the gang is falling apart." Zach says. Looking for Rusty's opinion, Zach grabs him by the collar of his orange shirt and tries to pull him closer, but instead pulls him from his chair and to the ground. Rusty angrily slaps Zach's hand away, as he tries to get back up onto his chair from the vinyl flooring.

"Gee, relax." says Rusty, steadying himself. "I was going to look over on my own." After getting to his feet, he peered over Zach's shoulder for a better look of what's written. Rusty raises his right eyebrow again, questioning his friend once more, but this time a cocky grin is plastered onto his face. "Dude, seriously?" The redhead laughs under his breath. "If our friend circle is really failing, it's not our fault. That Birtz kid is taking Lincoln away from us."

Clyde looks at Rusty, knowing well what the ACTUAL problem is.

"What? No!" objects Clyde. "He's just… making other friends! You know, his classes are all different. He should have someone to hang out with." Zach glared at Clyde, obviously in agreement with Rusty. The boy rests his elbow on the table and leaned in towards Clyde.

"Clyde, I'm surprised you aren't taking this seriously." reasons Zach. "Lincoln is replacing you and you're just brushing it off."

Well, if one would think this sentence is harmless, somebody lied. The Lincoln and Clyde duo used to be inseparable, but now it feels like their friendship's being balanced on a tightrope. Hearing that your best friend is replacing you is no different than a punch to the gut for Clyde McBride, and their current situation just added fuel to the fire. Even with all the pressure, Clyde uses his best efforts to ignore Zach's dreadful claim.

"Zach!" chastises Clyde. "How about you look at it this way: Lincoln has it difficult without us so he just needs a friend to help him out. Besides, I'm sure Birtz could be our friend, too. He would be a great addition. I'm sure he would join right? Even Stella joined our friend circle despite the incident we caused."

Zach scoffs. "Stella and Birtz are two different people. Plus that incident was many years ago! It was quite embarrassing too, I wish I could erase that memory... anyways we've never even talked to Birtz. Who knows what that guy is like?"

"Well, I guess we need to find out. What do you think about this idea: we invite Lincoln and Birtz over to our table at lunch. They should be at school in time after their field trip."

"I guess we can try that out," says Rusty. "I do kind of feel bad for those guys. Imagine having a field trip to a laboratory full of insects and other garbage, out of all places."

"It's for an assignment." replies Clyde. "Don't you remember? Lincoln mentioned it."

"Damn, he needs to write a paper on that too? Must suck. I wouldn't last a day trying to write on that stuff." says Rusty. The tall boy has a small interest in writing—he finds it relaxing and fun to express and nourish his creative side.

"Well, at least he ain't writing a paper on how it feels to meet the love of your life." taunts Zach, poking fun at his friend's writing habits. 'You know, Rusty, maybe you should put your writing smarts into something else. Your romantic fantasies sometimes get out of hand."

The three teens share a laugh. They're all friends who love to joke around and have fun. It's no question that their relationship can be rocky at times, but they're definitely on the path for a lifelong friendship. Clyde stays put at his chair, hoping that Birtz will fit into their friend circle without a problem. Though the three adolescents don't share identical beliefs, they all have a small part in them, striving for the return of their gang's glory days.

However Rusty, Clyde and Zach weren't the only ones who wanted a mend in their friendship. Undoubtedly, their white-haired friend was also adamant to repair their relationship, and in turn, coped with untimely worry and unease. Presently, Lincoln and Birtz stand in the chilly spring breeze, planning to continue their conversation on the bus. Lincoln's distinct white hair blows madly in the wind, prompting him to awkwardly hold it down with his hand. He turns to Birtz, trying to avoid eye contact with other students. They're standing amid their class, clumped together in the parking lot of their school. Mr. Nicolas is coordinating the group.

"C'mon guys! If we want to get on the bus without causing a stampede, then you guys should form a single line... instead of allowing that to squeeze through the tiny door." Mr. Nicolas says, gesturing to the bus's slim entrance. Ahead of them is a school bus, the distinct yellow paint shining bright in the morning sun. One could easily mistake this day for a hot summer morning if it weren't for the cold breezes. Mr. Nicolas, unsatisfied with his class' response, shakes his head in disapproval. The students had seemingly ignored his words, and tossed them aside as meaningless.

"LET'S GO!" bellows Mr. Nicolas, startling the students. Their teacher's sudden outburst encourages the kids to get moving, and they do their best to get in a single file. Lincoln and Birtz stick together, grabbing a spot near the back of the line—they preferred to stay away from the so-called 'good' seats. Students clash with one another, trying to find a spot in the queue—being near the front would reward you with a good spot on the bus. The Genetics Laboratory of Detroit was in a different city, a near 40 minute drive from their high school in Royal Woods; being stuck at a dreary spot would take away any fun in the ride. With this ideology, students practically battle to get close to the front, and you can tell through their silent exchange of words.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Careful."

"Sorry!"

"Let me in!"

Mr. Nicolas takes note once the class forms a semi-decent line and waves his arms to get everyone's attention. "Everyone, we're going to enter the bus now. Please choose your seat and don't get up to switch, otherwise you'll cause a traffic jam, and we don't need people to argue. So, come on in, and be respectful and polite." He steps aside, granting them access.

"Hoping for a seat in the front. I know those… guys will sit in the back." Birtz whispers in Lincoln's ear, referring to those notorious for bullying the weaker crowd, similar to the way a predator would search for its prey. His white-haired friend immediately understands his reference, and the first person which comes to Lincoln's mind is his intimidating bully, Arnold Sawyer. Lincoln leans in to whisper back.

"Yeah, I totally understand what you're saying. And all too well..." replies Lincoln. The queue continues to move forward, and as they get closer to the bus, the sound of footwear slamming against the bus stairs becomes louder. It's not too long until Lincoln and Birtz climb onboard, and pass by the driver. Lincoln slips an awkward 'good morning' to him, to which he respectfully nods and smiles. He sits at the steering wheel wearing a Detroit Pistons cap, a black padded jacket, a yellow t-shirt and a pair of dark blue denim jeans. Lincoln and Birtz take a few seconds to choose a seat, even though the majority are taken. They select third row seats to the right, and Birtz steps aside to let his friend in first.

"Thanks for letting me get the window seat." Lincoln says, sitting down. Birtz shrugs and plops down next to his friend. "How'd you know I love looking out the window during a long trip?" Lincoln watches as a pompous grin stretches across Birtz's face.

"Because I'm sure someone like you would love awkwardly staring at other drivers and pedestrians." quips Birtz. In response to his friend's witty remark, Lincoln shakes his head with a small grin.

"Of course!" he jokingly says, getting a small chuckle from Birtz. The bus suddenly jolts and the engine's stutters vibrate the floor. Lincoln stares at the surrounding buildings as the bus passes by their adjacent ones. The road is unpaved and plagued with cracks, making oncoming passengers subject to a bumpy ride.

"So… um… are… you… doing… anything this… weekend?" says Birtz, speaking through the bus's violent jolts and bumps. Lincoln pauses for a moment to think before giving his friend an answer.

"Hmm, probably... nothing. We... have the paper... due this... Friday, so I won't be working... on it during the... weekend!" Lincoln replies, voicing his frustration at the road's condition through that last word. The bus continues to violently rattle.

"Well, what... do you say we... go out to the... movies?" suggests Birtz. "Invite your... friends too?" The bus turns onto another road, and thankfully, unlike the last one, it doesn't suffer from poor maintenance. "That's if they even like me when I join them at the lunch table. Ugh, thank goodness we aren't on that street anymore, I think my breakfast is about to come up." Lincoln grins, evoked by his friend's last statement.

"You know, I would love that." Lincoln says, taking up his friend's offer. "I haven't gone out to the movies in a while. To be honest, I don't think I've gone out at all in a while, maybe a few months or so." Birtz quirks a brow, questioning his friend. "Yeah, going out for leisure is definitely rare for me, especially since I haven't hung out with my friends in a while." Birtz nods his head. "To be honest with you, I prefer to spend most of my time in my room. Usually I'm there studying, writing comics, drawing, video games... you know, most of the stuff I usually do. In my house, we get absolutely no privacy, and, I think you can tell I put up with a lot of nonsense."

"Oh wow, I can imagine. I probably wouldn't even survive with one sibling, and you're over here living a life with ten sisters." says Birtz. "That's just legendary, an incredible feat in my book." Lincoln smiles at this statement. "Considering that you spend a lot of time drawing and writing comics, you could probably make some good money if you start a business. What do you think of that?" Lincoln shakes his head at his friend's suggestion. "Oh? Why not?"

"It would be nice, but sometimes I just lack originality. I feel like I would end up ripping off popular comics. After all, I'm not that good at English either. My speech mannerisms suck, I'm always... overcomplicating things." Lincoln says. "By the way, thanks for that little compliment. I still wonder what it's like to be an only child, though I couldn't trade my sisters for the world. But I'd love to hear your input, considering you don't have any siblings."

"Not as nice as most people expect." Birtz says. "Too much alone time. Plus, my dad is single and has a lot of responsibilities. He owns a big company and stuff, it's a lot to manage. Being an only-child is probably a dream for most kids, but if they didn't have their siblings they'd probably do anything to get them back... Like most people say, you don't realize the importance of something until you lose it."

"Wow, I can only imagine. If I lost my sisters, I'd be completely lost. They practically help me survive! Losing them would be no different from losing my parents..." This statement seems to make Birtz frown. Lincoln fails to notice, and goes on to admire the nobility of his friend's father. "You know, considering your dad's quite the scientist, I'd love to learn a few things from him. Especially since he owns a huge company in that industry." Birtz perks back up, brushing off his brief moment of sorrow.

"I'm sure he'd love to give you some tips." Birtz assures, slapping his best friend's shoulder. "You guys have a lot in common, or at least by the looks of it. Maybe you could even get a job with him, who knows..."

"Maybe so, but if he were to offer me a job only because we're friends, I'd turn it down. Even though I've gotten pretty smart, I'm not sure if I'm ready for that level of commitment. Plus I'm still head and shoulders below my sister Lisa. She's won a few Nobel prizes and she's only eight-years-old." Lincoln says, boasting his sibling's accomplishments. "Ridiculous, right?"

"Dang, yeah it is! Sadly that's probably what my father expected of me… Unfortunately my brain is as dusty as that windowsill." jokes Birtz, gesturing to the window beside Lincoln. He reaches over and drags his finger along the sill, removing a thick layer of dust. He acknowledges the caked finger, which had become a dark shade of grey. "Pretty bad, and disgusting too."

"Dude, you're actually brilliant. Just because you aren't a science geek, it doesn't mean you're an absolute idiot." Lincoln says. "Also get that away from me, it's gross. I can't believe the bus is that dirty." Birtz wipes his finger on his pants to get rid of the dust.

"Yeah, I know I'm not a total failure. I was just kidding around." Birtz explains, examining his finger to make sure it was free from grime. "And yeah, the bus is that dirty. There's even some type of brown stain on the wall. Look beside you." Lincoln looks to the wall sharply, pushing himself a little from it. He collides with Birtz. "Ha! Made you look, idiot. I was just kidding."

"You better be." Lincoln warns, jokingly. He returns to the window. "You better watch it, because next time you make a joke like that I'll kill you." He puts an excessive amount of emphasis on 'kill' to clarify that he wasn't being serious. "I actually thought there was poop on the walls, even if you didn't explicitly state it. I guess I'm pretty stupid myself, eh?"

"Nah, you're the farthest thing from stupid. I'd do anything to be on your level. At least I'd be good enough to impress my dad." Birtz says, envious of his friend's skill at science. He can't help but imagine his father addressing Lincoln as the 'son he'd always wanted.' Those bitter words make Birtz all the more jealous. He wants to be that smart, but his father's high demand would undoubtedly be too much for him anyways. After all, his father would probably use him as a trophy. "Well, not really. I feel like he'd expect too much of me at that point."

"No, your dad is definitely proud of you already. He's just waiting to show you." assures Lincoln, patting Birtz on the back. That statement lights him up. "If your dad expects too much of you, or you feel that way, just let him know. What are you planning to get into anyways?"

"Hmm... maybe mechanical engineering?" Birtz says. "Haven't thought about it really, nor told anyone."

"That sounds so cool!" Lincoln exclaims. "This is a bit early, but you should design a machine that, when you miss your alarm, sprays ice-cold water on you. Would be perfect for some people." He hints towards certain people, though Birtz fails to understand. "Ah! You wouldn't get it. But imagine how much praise you'd get for that, it'd make an excellent prank for people who keep their alarm on. Ugh, those people are so annoying, if you don't want to get out of bed, you don't have to make others suffer... unless you live alone, that's a different story..."

"Yeah, I'm still waiting. I miss feeling victorious. You know, I miss that sweet taste of victory." Birtz says. "Speaking of sweet, that reminds me; want to stop at the ice-cream shop after school? The one just down the street, with the good dairy." He drawled the word 'good' to give it prominence. "It's better than that crappy stuff from the convenience store."

"Hmm… I'll think about it, I'm trying to save up my money for a new laptop. I would prefer to buy a computer tower but I don't really have the space for that. My room is the size of a linen closet." Birtz seems confused at that comparison. "-And it's not a comparison, my room used to be a linen closet. We had no space in the house, so that was the best course of action, considering that I'm a guy living with ten other girls."

"Ohhhh! That makes a lot more sense, I was actually concerned for a second. By the way, I can cover you, if you'd like." Birtz offers.

"No man, it's fine. Thank you nonetheless. Their ice cream is sooo expensive. It's the best I've ever had though... I'm just sayin' I'd feel pretty guilty if you were spending double the money on something that costly." He pats the outside of his pocket. "Your ol' wallet will be hurting after that. The money could probably go to something better."

"You say that like, there's something better than ice-cream... NOTHING, and I repeat, nothing... can beat ice-cream. It's worth every single penny, especially when you're talking about the good stuff." says Birtz. "And I have some money to blow, Lincoln. I'm practically rolling in the dough, right now. In others words, I'm rich!"

"You DON'T have to," says Lincoln. "I don't really need ice cream, it's the last thing I need right now. Why should I risk slipping into a coma?" They both giggle at Lincoln's smartassery. "We can just go together, but I won't buy anything. Stop trying to convince me, your attempts will all be in vain."

"Seriously...?" Birtz deadpans, his head drooping a bit.

"Yes!" Lincoln sternly says.

"Ugh... okay, well don't complain when you don't get anything." Birtz chuckles. "So, basically, you just wanna go for a walk after school? I won't cut the ice-cream part out of it though, I'm still adamant to get some. Plus, I'm not going home until I finish every last drop... Don't want my dad to get mad at me, again." Birtz rolls his eyes—he expects his dad to get mad at practically anything.

"That sounds great- I mean fine..." Lincoln says. "I have to notify my parents that I'm gonna walk home, with you, though. If I leave you out of the picture, they'd probably grow crazy suspicious... I hate walking home, so it'd be really unlike me to suddenly prefer that method of travel."

"I'm completely fine with that. What's your thoughts on the movies?" asks Birtz.

"I'd have to ask my parents about that one too... and possibly make some arrangements. It's not a short hangout, you know? We need to make sure our schedules are clear." He turns to Birtz. "What about you?

"Definitely can! My dad probably won't even care, he'd just be glad to get me out of his sight." Lincoln gives Birtz a weird look in response to his remark. "HEH! Just kidding." He tries to shift the topic, fearing the discussion it could lead to. "Want to check in with your friends to see if they could join us, like through a text message? You have your phone on yah, right? Unless you're a weirdo."

"Uh, sure? I don't think there are any restrictions against using your phone on the bus." Lincoln falters.

The Loud boy reaches for his phone, buried deep inside the pocket of his joggers. After shuffling through his pocket's contents, he pulls out his mobile phone and clutches it with his right hand. It shines with a vibrant blue case that's equipped with a foldable stand. Birtz leans forward to hide the device as a precaution. Mr. Nicolas had previously instructed the students to shut off any devices in advance, not clarifying whether they could use them before entering the building.

"You know, I could just talk to them at lunch." Lincoln attempts to reason with his friend. "I don't wanna risk losing my phone for eternity, or going through the embarrassment from getting it confiscated..."

"Well, leaving a text is fine. Just in case they forget, or we don't get back in time for lunch… Just do it anyways, I'm impatient!" Birtz says, nudging his friend's shoulder.

"Fine..." Lincoln groans. "If my phone gets taken away, it's your fault, you daredevil."

Lincoln switches his phone on and unlocks it. He swipes through a few pages of applications until finding his messaging tool. Inside, a group chat with the entire gang sits in the midst of his other conversations.

Lincoln texts, "Hi everyone. I'm wondering if you guys would be interested in going to the movies. Me and Birtz are thinking of going and we'd love it if you guys can come. Birtz really wants to know you guys better, plus it's been a while since our last hangout. Say…. this Saturday? I'll try and work things out with my parents." After sending out the message, the screen goes black—Lincoln cut the power to his phone. He covertly slips his phone back into the confines of his pocket.

"There! I did it." Lincoln drawls, turning to the window. "Satisfied?"

"Very. Now, we just need to hope they say yes." Birtz says.

"And that I can even go in the first place." The white-haired boy adds.

"Right..." Birtz says. Silence grows among the two. There's no eye contact, not even a single hint of interaction. After a few good minutes, the brown-haired boy builds the confidence to ask Lincoln a question that's bugged him since the discovery of his friend-related issues. "Lincoln... I have a quick question for you." Lincoln perks his head up, and turns to his friend.

"Yes? Ask away."

"If you even know, what do your friends really think about me?"

"Well, I'm going to be honest with you..." says Lincoln. There's no easy way to answer this question. Lincoln does have an idea of his friends' perception on Birtz. However, it wouldn't be the best thing to hear, and if he's wrong, future plans would go south. He didn't want to give Birtz an ill-image of his friends, but Lincoln couldn't help but suspect the worst. He sighs. "I'm not entirely sure. But I'm afraid they think I'm replacing them, or something along those lines—though I hope I'm wrong."

"Geez..." pipes Birtz. "Honestly, that sounds terrible... I guess if we all started hanging out together, the problem would be solved. So maybe we are doing the right thing by giving them an invitation."

"Well, if that's the case, why didn't they just approach us first?" queries Lincoln.

"Everyone's different, Lincoln." clarifies Birtz. "They were probably waiting for you to introduce me."

"Yeah, I guess that's sort of our fault." says Lincoln.

"Eh, who knows. I really hope that you solve these problems and I can get along with those guys." says Birtz. He looks down, fidgeting. "This has become the most important thing now, aside from our paper due this week."

"Let's just hope things go in the right direction…"

Elsewhere, Rusty, Zach and Clyde have been put to work. They were just assigned a new group project, in which everyone at their table must participate. Luckily for the trio, this gave them the opportunity to collaborate without the awkwardness of speaking to random classmates. Their project demanded watercolor portraits of themselves, or a rendition. They were to be presented on a board, and hung up on a free spot on the wall for the rest of the year. The three adolescents had planned to meet up on Saturday to further work on the project, assuming they wouldn't be able to finish during work periods. As of now, the three were wasting their time—chatting on unrelated topics—rather than using it to their advantage.

Clyde, the perfectionist teen, chooses to spice up the conversation. "Hey Rusty!" His orange-haired friend meets his gaze. "I have some advice for you: please don't over-exaggerate your looks like you do with most portraits...because you're not the hot stuff you think you are." he mocks. "I feel like you should draw yourself as a clown! And, in the rare case you don't make yourself look like an '80s supermodel, your portrait would look like..." He takes a brief moment to think about his next sentence. "...a Twister mat!" Rusty tilts his head, confused, and Clyde rolls his eyes in response. "It means you got a lot of acne, you donut." They all laugh.

Once the laughter subsides, Rusty decides to take a shot at his friend. "Okay... well Clyde, you should draw yourself with an excellence award for every subject, except physical education." Clyde shrugs, but Zach chortles a bit. "It would make sense, considering you're built like a flagpole, and also the weakest person in the whole school." Zach starts to guffaw at his friend's remark, while Clyde uses his best efforts to keep a straight face. "And you suck at making a good comeback, too."

"You made a good point Rusty," Zach says. "Clyde is a pretty big nerd. I think he rubbed off on Lincoln." He refers to Lincoln's new passion in science. "Personally, I would draw myself with gold and silver hair, shaved down the middle and a tattooed mustache." The boys immediately understood their friend's reference—there was a time when they attended a friend's pool party, and it ended in catastrophe. In response, Clyde facepalms.

"My gosh!" Clyde chuckles, shielding his face from view. "There was no need to remind us of that hideous party." He recalls being publicly humiliated, in the spotlight with cameras flashing everywhere, stripped down to nothing but his underwear. Snickers were ubiquitous. "I wish I could wipe that memory... at least kids haven't mentioned it in a while. Otherwise, I don't know if I'd still be living here."

"Don't worry Clyde, I remember that incident clearly." Rusty says, thinking of their embarrassing time at the pool party from a couple years ago. "If anybody tries to resurface those old photos of us, they'll get a taste of a knuckle sandwich." He practically slams his head against the table. "Ugh! Why do the most embarrassing memories have to be as clear as day?!"

"Couldn't agree more dude… I basically went bald that day, Lincoln and Clyde were shamed in nothing but their underwear..." Zach practically cringes at their predicament. "-and your face was very swollen." Rusty shakes his head to that statement. "Yep, your lips were big like fresh Kielbasa." Clyde laughs at his comparison. "Not to mention that photos of us were posted to the internet when the incident first happened."

"True, and what's scary is that those very images are probably still up there. Hopefully nobody will recognize that as us." Clyde says. "We can only hope, guys. We can only hope..." Zach awkwardly turns away.

"Well, it already blew over! Can we just talk about something else?!" Zach asks. He shifts back to the group, and slams his fist on the table. "If we keep talking about that mess, someone's gonna overhear and surf the internet for those photos!" The others nod their head.

"With pleasure! Just talking about it makes me sick to my stomach!" Clyde says.

Before the three can ramble on any further, their phones buzz in their pocket, and the familiar sound of a cowbell interrupts their conversation. They recognize the cowbell as the notification sound for when someone messages their gang's group chat. They're all surprised—nobody has messaged the conversation in months, so there was no reason to randomly text, especially during school hours.

"Sounds like someone's messaging the group chat." Zach acknowledges. "I know that sound when I hear it, especially when we aren't stuck at Liam's farm." He rolls his eyes. "Ugh, that kid's so annoying. Back to the point, why is someone even messaging the chat?! Don't they know we're stuck doing work?! …Actually nevermind that, we haven't been working on the project at all."

"Seriously?!" Rusty bleats, throwing his friends off guard. "Who has the time to message that group chat in the middle of class?"

"Definitely not one of us." Clyde states. "Well of course it's not, unless one of you is that sneaky. Plus, the other two...kiddos have classes that don't give them any flexibility. So it's probably... Lincoln." He feels a bit hopeful after uttering his friend's name.

"Oh yeah, cause he has a field trip." Zach says. "What a lucky dude. He's basically left us, made friends with some good-looking guy, and gets to go out on a field trip." Clyde gives him a strong glare. "Whatever. Learn to grow a spine, you baby."

"You know what? If it's Lincoln, I'm definitely checking it out." discloses Rusty. "I'd love to hear from that guy again. It's been maybe a few weeks since we've last talked." Rusty shuffles through his pocket and grabs his phone. The light from the screen shines onto his face. Clyde, not wanting his friend's phone to get confiscated, gives him some noteworthy advice.

"Make sure to hide it under the table, so the teacher doesn't see." Clyde coaches, but Rusty basically waves him off.

"Yeah, I know. I know."

The text message shows up in the notifications bar, giving Rusty the ability to read it without unlocking his phone. Rusty scans through the message. It's from Lincoln, confirming their suspicions, and the white-haired boy is seemingly inviting them to a trip to the movies.

"Lincoln's inviting us to go to the movies. He's going to bring Birtz along, apparently. They want to go this Saturday." Rusty informs them. "Sounds pretty sick, I'd totally be down for it."

"Aren't we supposed to work on the project Saturday?" Zach asks, making Clyde frown a little.

"Yeah…" Clyde says. He doesn't want to give up, though, and is adamant to spend time with his best friend. "But, why don't we just work around it? This project is due next Wednesday. Instead of skipping the outing, how about we work on the project beforehand then go to the movies? Or, we can just work on the project another day. I mean, we have more than a week to get this done. So, what do you guys think?" To the other guys, it's evident that Clyde is looking to repair any rips in the chance that he gets to meet his old pal at the movies. Though this would be quite a simple problem to solve, future hiccups would still be fixable. Cluttered schedules were a notorious culprit for the ruination of hangouts, and this was a prime example.

"Hmm, that sounds good to me." Zach confirms. He turns to his orange-haired friend beside him. "How about you, Rust?"

"Oh, I'm totally fine with it." Rusty says. "I already said that I'm down for it, you deaf-"

"Shut up, just tell him we can go." Clyde interrupts. "Don't start an argument, just text him quickly. Then, we'll get back to business, instead of wasting our time talking about random garbage." He gestures to Rusty. "Do it."

Rusty unlocks his phone and clicks on the notification. It opens the gang's group chat, highlighting Lincoln's previous message. He starts to compose a message for his friend. "Hey Lincoln, it'd be cool to finally hang out with you guys. So we're totally up for it. I'm speaking on behalf of Clyde and Zach." Rusty sends the text message, but his heart sinks as he feels a hand wrap around his phone. It was none of his friends' hands, but the teacher's hand. He immediately knows he's screwed.

"That's unacceptable, Rusty. Texting during class?" their art teacher scolds, taking his phone away from him. "By the way, you boys have been doing nothing but talking. Focus on getting your work done. Maybe you won't be complaining about homework, in that case." The boys look down in shame. "Get to work, I won't hesitate to come back if you don't." She points to Rusty. "As for you, meet me after class if you want your phone back."

"Shoot!" Rusty complains. The rest of the class have their eyes set on the three boys, where the latter had just made a big fuss. He still has his fingers bent, as if he's holding an invisible phone. The boy slowly straightens out his hand, returning it to the wooden tabletop. Clyde starts laughing.

"What can I say? You didn't listen to my advice!"

...

---

...

Current Time: 9:57 a.m. (ET)

After a painful forty-minute drive, the entire class arrived at the Genetics Laboratory of Detroit. Through the entirety of the trip, Lincoln and Birtz had engaged in a conversation, and made plans to go to the movies, though they had to deal with what seemed to be a jungle in the back of the bus. The bus stalled, and everyone got out, crowding a sidewalk near the main building. The building in front of them was heavily modernized, being varied in bricks and structures. Everyone visually examined the building in awe, astonished and perplexed by the building's impressive infrastructure and design. Now, they just needed to wait for their guide to welcome them. Lincoln and Birtz were still together, and basically inseparable.

"So this is it?" Lincoln says, nudging Birtz's side. "A lot bigger than I expected. Honestly, I thought it was going to be a small building. But now that I'm here, it has like four floors, probably more..." He looks at his friend, who's acknowledging the building, astounded. "What do you think?" Birtz can't bring himself to take his eyes off the impressive building. "I didn't think our school would bring us to a cool place."

"For real!" Birtz agrees, directing most of his attention to the building. "I thought it would be more broken down and old." He finally breaks the stare and turns to Lincoln. "Realistically, that sounds more like a place they'd actually take us." The two laugh, but their laughter gets cut short after a large kid bumps into them from behind. Lincoln stumbles forward, narrowly missing a few students standing in front of him. Birtz is barely affected by the push, since his feet were heavily planted to the ground. Though it startled him, his initial reaction is to locate the culprit, scanning the area to catch them. Behind him is Arnold Sawyer, the same student who's notorious for being hollow and insincere—he has a considerable history of bullying. Birtz sends a glare of irritation his way, but Lincoln's heart sunk upon realizing his presence, especially since the latter had chosen to start an altercation with the two.

"Oh sorry, my bad, Burps. I seriously didn't think it was you." Arnold says, making a joke out of Birtz's name. Xavier Ferguson, one of Arnold's friends, laughs at his friend's attempt at smartassery, while Birtz rolls his eyes. Arnold looks to his friend and quietly slips, "That was a good one, eh?"

Xavier decides to take his own shot at the boys. "Yeah, it was just an honest mistake. You guys looked like bollards, and we were looking for something to lean on. It must be because you're so slender and still." Xavier ridicules, referring to Lincoln's slim build. His wisecrack made Arnold audibly snicker. Birtz turns to Lincoln, and could see that the boy had turned into a quivering mess. He directs his attention back to the bullies, pissed off.

Birtz warns them in a voice laced with venom. "Go away..." He acknowledges them—he hated everything about the bullies, from their idealistic clothes to the satisfaction they got from turning other's lives into a living hell. Birtz has no empathy for people like that, and he's got no shame in it. His eyes narrow angrily.

"What? You're going to use daddy's money to stop me?" Arnold jokes. He turns to Xavier. "I'm almost scared of this spoiled brat. His dad might pay and send an airstrike to our houses." The two bullies start to titter. "You're full of yourself, Birtz. Just as full as your wallet." Birtz clenches his fists, and Arnold takes note. "Aww, looks like the little baby is mad, what are you gonna do? Shit yourself?"

"There are other means to stop you." Birtz says. "...and I'm not gonna shit myself, there's already enough shit here, considering you're full of it." He looks at Lincoln but fails to meet his eyes. He was hoping, maybe, that he'd get some sort of laugh from him, but instead, the white-haired boy's gaze is fixed on the two bullies, with an expression that was nothing short of terror. He doesn't understand why Lincoln's scared stiff.

"Really? You and Skeletor comin' to stop us?" Xavier says, practically challenging them to a fight. Though the two bullies have many friends to back them up, they don't share the same classes. Either way, they already have considerable strength—Arnold and Xavier have decent experience in martial arts. A fight between them, Lincoln and Birtz would be unmatched, and they'd undoubtedly come out victorious. Silence grows, and the air's filled with tension. Arnold and Xavier send intimidating glares Lincoln and Birtz's way, the fear on their faces still distinguishable.

"AHEM! Sorry if I'm interrupting the moment." They all turn to the person who'd broken the silence—it was Mr. Nicholas, their teacher. "So, gentlemen, what's going on here?" It doesn't take him long to understand the situation, after all, he had heard a bit of their exchange from a distance. "Xavier and Arnold, knock it off. Come with me now." Lincoln sighs in relief, and his heart returns from his throat—the adrenaline from nearly getting into a fight was understandably a lot of pressure. Considering that Arnold, including his friends, have been a huge adversary for him throughout his junior year, getting into a fight with them in the midst of other students would be too humiliating and frightening. Arnold, before leaving his victims to ponder, gives them a final set of threating words—especially for Lincoln.

"This was the least of your worries, Loud. You better hope there's no repeat of our last fight. The same goes for you Robern." Arnold scowls, before storming off with his friend Xavier, using his best efforts to instill fear into the two. Birtz, who was still afraid despite standing up to them, checks on his friend, knowing how scared he looked. It seemed to be some sort of post-traumatic stress—now that led Birtz down a tunnel of questions. Something was up, he knew it. Lincoln was never that fearful. He vividly remembers, when Lincoln had insults hurled at him, whether it was by Arnold or one of his friends, he brushed them off like they were nothing—though he would often voice his frustration afterwards.

Getting close to him, Birtz puts an arm around his shoulder. "Don't mind those guys, they're just... asshats." Birtz comforts, "There's plenty of them around the school, though Arnold and his goons have been your main problem... I told you they'd come after us at one point, but now that Mr. Nicolas took them off our backs, we won't be dealing with them for a while. Now, I got a quick question for you.. why were you so scared?" He pauses for a second, taking a moment to think. Arnold's last sentence... 'You better hope there's no repeat of our last fight.' That was it—Arnold did something terrible to Lincoln. All the questions that raced his mind were answered. "Wait a minute… he mentioned something about your last fight? You fought him?!" Lincoln shakily nods his head. "Stop."

"Y-y.. yeah." Lincoln says, his voice shaken up from their encounter. "Those guys scare the living crap out of me." He stares at his feet. "One day, they jumped me after school… I did kind of put myself in that spot, though."

"C'mon man, stop playing around." Birtz says, in disbelief. "You're serious? Like, serious?" Lincoln gives him another nod. "When?!"

"It all happened, a month ago... It was March. I'm still recovering." He awkwardly looks away. "But I don't want to encounter those g-guys again." His voice starts to crack, and his lips quiver. "I c-can't talk about it... It's just too scary." Birtz stares in disbelief. The pieces were coming together—but one thing was missing. Lincoln and Birtz were friends, and they cared about each other. Why would Lincoln keep this a secret? He didn't believe it was healthy to live with a horrid memory like that, especially without expressing it to someone. Did Lincoln not trust him, or anybody, at all?

"...and you never told me about this!?" Birtz exasperates. "Why?!" His stir-up causes students to glance in their direction, confused and annoyed. Lincoln, who prefers to not make a scene, tries to contain Birtz's temper. He whispers in his friend's ear.

"Calm down! Kids are staring!" Lincoln's cue prompts him to take in the surroundings, and he acknowledges the kids around him. They're giving the two boys mixed glares—a mixture of confusion and annoyance. He then realizes that they'd formed a small circle around them, presumably in anticipation for their beatdown at the hands of Arnold and Xavier. He faces them, endeavoring to divert attention away from them.

"Don't mind us!" Birtz announces, before turning back to Lincoln, muttering something under his breath. "Stupid people..." He knew had they gotten into a fight with Arnold and Xavier, their fellow peers would snicker and record them, and that pissed him off. "Anyways… Why didn't you tell anyone?" Lincoln awkwardly looks away, fearing how his friend would react.

Lincoln sighs, "I hate to say this... but, I was afraid of being judged." He's reminded of all the times he's been overshadowed, unsuccessful, and looked down upon. "What can I expect? A lot of my sisters are stronger than me, yet I can't even swat a fly." Lincoln's eyes met the floor. "No matter who, where, or when, I always feel like the weakest one in the room." After hearing these words from his friend, Birtz pats him on the shoulder.

"It's okay, buddy." Birtz comforts. "I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me the truth... don't worry Linc, you're strong, in your own way. You don't need to be an absolute unit to kick some serious ass." Using the help of his encouraging words, Birtz is able to see a glimmer of hope in his friend's eyes, and Lincoln perks up, cracking a half-smile. "Oh! You're smiling."

"You're right, I am smiling." The two break from their half-hug, and Lincoln and Birtz's eyes meet each other. "Pretty good words of encouragement you've got there. Thanks, it really means a lot... I'm sorry for not telling you, I just wasn't comfortable telling anyone... especially with some of the stuff I was told—I'm not just afraid of being judged." Lincoln says. He leans in to whisper in Birtz's ear, just to be sure nobody else hears. "If this gets out, Arnold will make my life a living hell... so please, and I'm telling you, don't tell anyone."

Luckily, Birtz is very understanding. "It's alright man, I swear on my life that I won't tell anybody." He pauses for a moment. "Not even my parents, not some random dude on the internet... nobody. Your secret is safe with me." Birtz doesn't hesitate to offer his friend a fist-bump, to which Lincoln immediately accepts. Then, he catches something from the corner of his eye. "Oh, looks like our guide is here... finally!"

Their guide for the morning arrives, distinguishable by an olive laboratory coat. She approaches the class from afar, holding a plastic clipboard tucked under her arm. She appears to be a tall, slender woman, who keeps long brown hair and large circular glasses. Upon her arrival, Mr. Nicolas stands beside her. On her coat, "GLOD" is imprinted in white medium-sized letters above the left pocket.

"Alright everyone, may I please have your attention! This is our guide for today. She will introduce herself, then explain what we'll be doing for the day." says Mr. Nicolas, the class not being completely silent, to his discontent. "Quiet!"

"Hello, section… one. My name is Janet Silva, and if you have any questions, you can address me as Mrs. Silva. Today, we'll be exploring the entomology section of the GLOD, where we host investigations, experiments and studies on the genetic composition of insects, which also includes arachnids, myriapods, and crustaceans. We'll go through the area, which will have many organisms on display, including a few genetically modified ones. There will be many adults working in the area who'll be more than happy to enlighten everyone on these matters—but remember, there are many who are actually working, so remember to stay as quiet as you can. Also, photographing is prohibited in our facilities." she says, giving the class an introduction. The majority of the students listen, though many continue to drool over the building's complexity.

Birtz takes the opportunity to make a quick joke. "I forgot everything she just said." He gets closer to Lincoln. "Didn't she say we can photograph all we want and yell as loud as we can?" He shakes his head upon realizing how stupid his remark was.

"Hmm. You're funny..." Lincoln drawls. Before setting off, Mr. Nicolas makes one last announcement.

"Class, follow Mrs. Silva, she's going to take us to the entomology section." instructs Mr. Nicolas, as the young woman starts to wander off, gesturing at the students to follow her. "Remember, keep quiet and no photography."

The class starts to follow Mrs. Silva to the building, which appears to grow bigger the closer they get. Upon reaching one of the entrances, she unlocks it using an ID card, which hung from a lanyard. Mr. Nicolas stays behind and holds the door for all of the students, to assure that the door doesn't close and lock them out. Once they're in the building, the modern architecture comes through at full force.

"Here's our entomology section," Mrs. Silva says, a hint of pride in her voice. Inside the entomology section, they're presented with the sight of laboratory and research equipment, along with glass receptacles that house different species of insects, including those which are genetically modified. Televisions and monitors are mounted onto walls and load-bearing pillars, certain ones added to display the listings of small details and statistics to further educate any newcomers (The area was open to students and tours). As anticipated, many people were working in this section. The space had high ceilings which reached heights of thirty feet, mesmerizing Birtz.

"How are they supposed to clean all the way up there?" Birtz questions, in a quiet and low tone, doing his best to respect the others who're at work. He points upwards to the ceiling which stood above them—small details like fans and vents were barely visible to the naked eye.

Lincoln stares where Birtz is pointing, and takes a few seconds to analyze. "Probably a big pole, which would be pretty heavy..." He scratches his chin. "I remember a time when I did volunteer work at my dad's restaurant, and we had to lift some pretty heavy stuff. It was pretty tough on my shoulders. So, I'm pretty sure if we tried cleaning that ceiling with a big pole, our shoulders would be sore for the rest of the week..." He looks at Birtz. "You need the right person for the job!" Their conversation is cut short when they start towards the first display, and Lincoln and Birtz' are knocked around by a flock of moving students. "Ooo, looks like we're getting started."

Mrs. Silva, who continues to guide the tour, leads the class to an exhibit near the left side of the large room. There, the students are introduced to a study where the ways that "beneficial insects contribute to the well being of humans, animals, and plants" are the central ideas. This exhibit lacks the habitual glass containers, a unit that's been ever-present throughout the entomology section. Rather than studying insects, it feeds off information from the other exhibits. Out of the few people working in this section, a male scientist introduces himself, stepping up to give an educational speech. He isn't very tall, but sports a neat beard and puffy black hair. The latter wears an olive laboratory coat, which, at this point, seems to be their dress code.

"You guys must be in science class, section… one, from Royal Woods High School?" he asks.

"Yes." Mr. Nicolas confirms, and the man nods his head in response.

"Right. I'm Jason Bautista, a scientist here at the Genetics Laboratory of Detroit. If you have any questions in the middle of my quick presentation, feel free to address me as Mr. Bautista. Before I start, I'd like to clarify that we're really happy to have you guys. It's always a pleasure to have student visitors." the scientist says. He speaks in an overly gleeful tone—something which stands out to Birtz.

"Why does he sound so happy? It's nine in the morning." Birtz says, emitting a partially suppressed laugh. "Man, I'm going to hate work when the time comes… especially if I have to talk like that." Lincoln and Birtz start a silent exchange while the scientist continues to deliver his speech, even though Lincoln was adamant to take plenty of notes while they were there.

"Some of the basic, well-known ways that insects benefit us is their defense against pest insects, their pollination of the crops we use as food and their clean-up of waste." Mr. Bautista says. The majority of the students take out their materials, and jot down useful points from his speech. Meanwhile, Lincoln and Birtz engage in a conversation.

"Birtz, do you realize that you got up at seven in the morning today? You've been bouncing off the walls all morning. Why is it that now, you're complaining that you would be too tired?" Lincoln asks. "You're literally contradicting your own ideas." Birtz facepalms.

"Oh Lincoln, you just don't understand... I was amped up for the field trip—it was something different and exciting, for a change. Even though I'm not interested in the slightest, it's good to be out somewhere rather than sitting in a jail cell." Birtz says. "I can't believe I was actually excited for this, we're just standing around and listening to 'science talk.' My legs will probably feel like jello after this." Lincoln rolls his eyes at Birtz. "What?"

"I came here to learn, you know... I was looking forward to this trip, I've been struggling on the paper."

"You came here to learn?" Birtz chortles. "I hope you realize that you've missed like, half of the presentation, by talking to me." He isn't wrong because Lincoln immediately realizes his mistake. He was fine with missing out on information, though—biology was nothing special to him and he didn't care about it.

"Oh crap, really?" Lincoln says, before turning to face the front, where Mr. Bautista continues to deliver his speech. He realizes that he buried himself deep into their conversation, rather than focusing on his main objective at the GLOD—to listen and learn. "I got immersed into the conversation." Birtz watches as Lincoln mouths something to him—he was no lip-reader, but Lincoln definitely said "screw you."

"Insects are also prominent because they aerate the soil, and help break down and dispose of wastes. This would include dead animals and plants. If it weren't for these insects, they would accumulate across the earth, which would be an unpleasant mess, to say the least." Lincoln starts jotting down notes with the materials he brought from class. "Many may complain that insects are annoying and unnecessary, suggesting that a world without them would be better. But in reality, killing off all insects would cause a huge imbalance in our ecosystem. As previously mentioned, insects play a huge role as pollinators. Without them, all trees and plants would be subject to death." Mr. Bautista explains. One of the students in Lincoln's class raises his hand, looking to get some information.

"Yes?" Mr. Bautista replies to the raised hand, gesturing to the student.

"You picked me, sir?" the student says, double-checking.

"Yes, go ahead." Mr. Bautista insists, giving the student the go-ahead to talk.

"Can insects feel pain, or emotions? I have a dog at home, who's completely attached to my mom. Whenever my mom leaves and she can't reach her, she'd cry until she sees my mom again. Do insects have emotional attachments like this? Also, do insects feel physical pain like we do?" the student queries. Mr. Bautista stalls for a second to come up with his choice of words before speaking.

"Well, most entomologists would agree that insects do not feel emotion, or at least not in the same way we do. Their brains are much simpler, missing the key parts associated with emotion. For your other question, yes, insects do feel physical pain. They feel something similar called "nociception." Upon feeling physically harmful stimuli, they react akin to the way we'd react to pain. Does that answer your question?" Mr. Bautista responds.

"Yes, thank you! That was very helpful!" the student says. "I have another quick question—in what ways are humans and insects alike?"

"Well, most of the enzymes, which is a type of protein found within a cell, made by insects and humans are very similar. The muscle and nerve cells also work alike in humans and insects. We both have similar organs that do more or less of the same things. Also, just to give you guys a fun fact, sixty-percent of the DNA code of fruit flies and humans is the same. With that knowledge, we know that most human genes and insect genes are identical and function alike." Mr. Bautista informs. Plenty of the students find that fascinating, and write it down, presumably for later use. "Alright! We're running on limited time here, so I'm just going to wrap it up right here."

"Wow... that was interesting." thinks Lincoln, writing down the key parts of Mr. Bautista's speech. "This is some handy information for my paper!" Meanwhile, Birtz stands a few feet away from Lincoln, not focused nor absentminded. He marks down a little bit of information—only with the mindset that he'd get in trouble if he didn't.

"Thank you, Mr. Bautista. I'm sure the students learned plenty." Mr. Nicolas says.

"With pleasure, Mr. Nicolas. If you guys have any other questions, feel free to ask me. Just make sure to stay away from any of the equipment, some could be dangerous without the necessary safety precautions." Mr. Bautista advises. "If you're looking for me, I'm sticking around this area. Just come to this exhibit and shout my name, and I'll be at your service." Once Mr. Bautista concludes his speech, the tour guide steps up to reprise her role as the main speaker.

"Alright everyone, I hope you enjoyed Mr. Bautista's speech. Now, we're going to move on to another exhibit." Mrs. Silva says. "When we're there, Mrs. Cook will present our assortment of genetically modified organisms." Birtz, being the ignorant person he's been since entering the facility, is confused and surprised that genetically modified organisms exist—though he knows they exist for a fact.

"Genetically modified? That's a thing? Did you know that?" Birtz asks, nudging Lincoln's shoulder. He doesn't respond, and the failure to get his friend's attention prompts Birtz to continue bothering him. "Lincoln? Lincoln? You dummy, answer me!" On Lincoln's part, he tries to ignore Birtz, because he's been nothing but a distraction since they entered the facility. Hopefully he'll leave him alone—that doesn't happen, though, and he should've expected that. "LINCOLN!"

"What!" Lincoln hisses, in a quiet yet aggressive tone, shifting his head towards Birtz aggressively. Birtz is unfazed by Lincoln's sudden reaction—considering that he pestered him for ten consecutive seconds, he was expecting a reaction of that sort.

"Uh, yeah, I was asking you... have you heard of a genetically modified organism?" he asks. "It seemed really out-of-the-blue to me. I don't think I've heard of something like that before." He wants a straightforward answer, but instead, he's given a series of unpleasant laughter. "What? Why are you laughing? Can you just give me an answer?" Birtz figures that he had probably made a stupid mistake, given that Lincoln's a science know-it-all.

"Um, of course I've heard of that before!" Lincoln says, practically wiping tears from his eyes. "Are you really that stupid?!" Birtz rolls his eyes, and Lincoln chuckles. "Everyone has heard of a GMO." Birtz finds something familiar about that term—then the realization hits. Yep, he was stupid.

"Oh yeah!" Birtz clicks, as the abbreviation for a genetically modified organism boots up his memory. "I remember the abbreviation... thanks for reminding me, I guess." He starts to laugh with his friend. "I am pretty stupid!" Once their laughter subsides, the tour guide prepares to lead the class to another exhibit.

"Let's go, everyone, follow me and your teacher." Mrs. Silva instructs. She leads the class to another part of the entomology section, where glass containers are laid across a large table. Each of them houses a strange type of insect with a type of genetic modification. A few entomologists are working in the area, either at a computer or working with an unknown piece of laboratory equipment. Behind the spot where the class settles, there is a large monitor mounted onto a load-bearing pillar, displaying the traits of the different insects. A woman with coarse auburn hair steps up to introduce herself, sporting the same distinct olive coat.

"Hello, you all must be part of Mr. Nicolas's class. I'm Mrs. Cook, a scientist here at the Genetics Laboratory of Detroit. Me and your teacher knew each other in high school. We became good friends through our similar interests in biology." she says.

Mr. Nicolas nods his head with an embarrassed smile, giving the impression that he knew something the students didn't. He rubs the back of his head. "Yes, we were good friends growing up."

"If you guys have any questions during my quick presentation, feel free to ask." Mrs. Cook says, and students within the crowd nod their head, or say 'okay' and 'alright.'

In the flock of students, Birtz and Lincoln choose to stand in the back—they were pretty tall and could see well over the others, though there's an odd bunch who stand much taller. Birtz observes the displays from a distance. At the bottom of each glass container, there's a compacted layer of a dirt-like material. In one of them, a large spider rests on the moist dirt. After he spots the creature making a huge leap to the top of its container, Birtz's attention is spoken for—he pokes Lincoln's shoulder, in hopes of getting his attention.

"Whoa! Dude, you see that?" Birtz asks, and his friend shakes his head. "A spider just leaped from the bottom to the top of the container!" Lincoln chuckles, giving Birtz the impression that he's skeptical about his claim. "I'm serious! Look at it with me, it's that one over there." He gestures to the container with the same spider in it. Lincoln and Birtz keep their eyes fixed on the arachnid while Mrs. Cook continues to deliver her speech.

"In this exhibit, you may see a lot of different insects, each having unique traits." Mrs. Cook says. "First off, I'd like to introduce one of our most complex specimens in the entire entomology section, the enhanced spider. It's a noble false widow with improved physical attributes, which includes jumping, speed and strength. If you were to stomp on one of these, it would take another four or five to kill it. But, of course, we don't want to kill these little guys, they're very valuable in our eyes." One of the spiders jumps onto the side of the glass, which happens to be the same one Birtz and Lincoln were observing.

"See!" Birtz exults, upon seeing the spider make another jump. "Told ya, I wasn't lying."

"Okay, I sort of believe you now." Lincoln replies.

"Why sort of? You saw it with your own eyes!" Birtz counters. He figures Lincoln is trying to wind him up—revenge for bothering him earlier.

"Because you said it jumped from the bottom to the top, which means it would have to do a hundred eighty degree flip mid-air." Lincoln says. "If you're too stupid to understand what I just said—I'm saying it needs to do a flip to land properly on the top of the container." Birtz rolls his eyes.

"I never said I didn't understand…"

"Okay? I was just making sure. You're too stupid to understand most things, anyways." Lincoln says, half-jokingly. The two continue to converse while Mrs. Cook gives her educational speech, and Lincoln ends up missing out on another handful of useful information—failing to fulfill his promise of avoiding another distraction.

"The spider was given an extra sense. They're able to detect when prey or imminent threats are nearby, and may react on instinct. For example, if we had a sixth sense like this, I would be able to tell if someone tried to attack me from behind. I would instinctively do some kind of maneuver to dodge the attack. Many of us in the building like to call it "spider-sense." However, the additional sense was never given it's own proper name."

Another student raises his hand, which peeks out from the crowd of students surrounding him.

"Yes?"

"I have a question. One of the glass containers is empty?" they question, pointing to one of the glass receptacles. Inside, it appears to be suited for one of the spiders, but the mini-environment was deserted. "Is there supposed to be something in there?"

"Oh, I forgot about that. That glass receptacle formerly accommodated another one of the enhanced spiders. I believe they may have removed the spider due to complications regarding the spider's design. Either that, or it needed some type of maintenance." Mrs. Cook states. "No need to worry..."

"Okay, thank you!" the student replies.

"Getting back to my speech, this wouldn't be possible without the help of Herman Industries." Mrs. Cook mentions. Birtz recognizes the name of his father's company, even though he and Lincoln ignored the majority of the speech, and he starts to listen in. "They gave us insight with their early versions of their performance enhancers, and we implemented them to create a genetically enhanced spider. Just a fun fact for you guys." Birtz raises his hand, eager to brag about his dad's nobility.

"Have a question? You in the back?"

"No, but I would like to share something. My dad is the founder of Herman Industries." Birtz says, proudly. This wasn't something he often talked about, but considering their current position, he figured it would be a nice way to spice up the conversation.

"Oh wow, really? That's very cool! What's your name?" queries Mrs. Cook, longing for more information.

Birtz enjoys the attention, and is more than willing to share more. "My name's Birtz Robern, and my dad is Herman Robern." Birtz explains. "My dad usually doesn't tell me what he does at work, though. So there's not many questions I can answer." He shrugs, unable to give a concise answer. "I guess it's confidential, and he doesn't trust me with secrets..." Birtz wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. His father can be confusing at times—he was probably making up stories to steer him away from the truth.

"Oh well, that's too bad, but it's pretty cool to know!" Mrs. Cook beams. "Your dad's company used to be pretty big and famous in the science industry—so you should feel proud! Thank you for sharing, Birtz. Hopefully, someday, you'll follow in your dad's footsteps!" Birtz looks down awkwardly. Is that what everyone expected of him? Simultaneously, Lincoln, who was listening to the exchange between Birtz and Mrs. Cook, decides to walk over to one of the TV monitors, which is mounted a few feet behind him.

"Interesting, his dad played a part in developing those... interesting spiders." Lincoln thinks, stepping in front of the monitor. "It looks like this monitor is displaying information on them. I'll go check it out." Lincoln starts to read the text presented on the monitor.

"The genetically enhanced spider was a project started in 2012, during the time Herman Industries was experimenting with performance enhancers. After a collaboration between the Genetics Laboratory of Detroit and Herman Industries took flight in 2013, the project was quickly finished and successful among the science community." Lincoln quietly reads to himself. The text fades out, then another set of information takes its place, similar to the way a slideshow would function. "The project successfully improved the spider's strength, durability, agility and jumping ability. Early tests showed an increase in strength by two-hundred percent."

"Two-hundred percent? That's wild." he thinks. Next to the information, there was a high-quality photograph of the enhanced spider. The photo was large, taking up half of the screen. Lincoln feels a tingle on his skin upon seeing the photo—he cringes at the sight of the disgusting creature.

"Ew, I can't imagine having that thing crawling on me.." Lincoln whispers. "Makes me feel itchy thinking about it." The uncomfortable feeling moved from his neck to his arm, as he continued to read more text. "Let's see here... the spider's extra sense was in development in 2014, after early versions of the spider were created. It was designed to allow the spider to sense imminent danger nearby, with an instinctive reaction to get away from or stop said threat. If one were to experience this, they would locate the danger and find a way to stop it or get away." He takes a moment to process the information. "That's fascinating..." The tingling sensation continues to run down his arm—and it was starting to get on his nerves. "The hell, what is that? There's no way it's just my imagination.."

The sensation runs up his arm and onto his hand, leading him to instinctively look at his hand. The white-haired boy realizes that the tingling sensation wasn't from his own imagination, rather a bug that had made its way into his shirt, and later navigated to his hand. But, Lincoln's heart sinks as he sees that it isn't any ordinary bug—it's a spider. Lincoln can't be sure if it's just an ordinary spider that's been lurking around the building, or a venomous spider that escaped its enclosure—there was not enough time to react.

"Ah!" Lincoln flinches after feeling a sudden sharp pain. He bumps the spider with his other hand and it falls to the ground. The creepy-crawly appears to be already injured—it struggles to crawl. Lincoln steps on it with his shoe, squashing the spider, it's crushed body sticking to the shoe's outsole. Nothing seems out of the ordinary with the spider, and, even in the rare scenario that it actually is a venomous spider, he could easily consult Lisa's help. She was practically a genius in every imaginable thing, so there was no need to worry. "I shouldn't let anyone here find out about this... I don't want to cause a commotion, no, no. That would be plain stupid..."

"What's up?" asks Birtz, tapping Lincoln's shoulder and taking him by surprise. Lincoln turns around sharply.

"Oh, um… nothing!" he assures.

"You said, 'I don't want to tell anybody about this so I don't cause a big commotion.' I'm not deaf. I came over here because I heard you get scared." Birtz deadpans. Lincoln needs to come up with a fake story, unless he wants Birtz to jump all over his case. He nervously laughs.

"Okay, well you see-" Lincoln tries to speak, but Birtz stops him—he found the problem, or at least what he thinks is the problem.

"No need, now I can see what happened. There's a strand of spider-silk hanging from the ceiling. I can barely see it, but it's right behind you." Birtz says, pointing to the area behind him. "You really thought you could sneak that past me, eh?"

"Yeah, that was definitely it…" laughs Lincoln, nervously. He turns around and sees the long strand of spider-silk that suspends from the ceiling, only visible through the light that makes it shine. It stopped around his neck level. He takes a moment to reflect. "So that's where it came from…"

"Don't worry, it was probably, or I'd say, just a normal spider lurking around here. All of the enclosures are literally sealed tight, and nothing could've escaped... unless they made them able to phase through walls." He laughs a bit in the form of a snort. "Alright man, let's get out of here, we're moving exhibits now." Birtz suggests. "Getting yelled at by Mr. Nicolas is the last thing I need right now-"

"Robern, Loud!" calls out Mr. Nicolas. "Come on, we're leaving."

Birtz facepalms, curses himself under his breath, and sets off. However, Lincoln stalls for a few seconds. He takes the time to acknowledge the bite mark on his hand. The skin in the area is stained with a red pigment, and two small indents are parallel to each other where the spider dug it's fangs. He figures the bite looks normal, considering the affected area is pretty small.

"I hope no one notices…" he mutters. "It looks like a normal bite to me."

Little did he know, that very bite had carved his fate.

...

---

...

Current Time: 11:42 a.m. (ET)

Ring! Ring! Ring!

The school bell releases an ear-piercing ring—it was lunchtime, the time of day everybody loves. It felt satisfying to take a break from their headache-inducing work, and to fill their starving bellies. The sudden noise startled kids who were focused on their classwork, while students who craved a break were happy to escape their class. As students flooded the halls, the sounds of slamming lockers and chattering students became profuse—people either grabbed their lunchbox or darted to the cafeteria to buy themselves a portion of food. For a certain student, he often found himself in the cafeteria, and if he's not waiting in line to buy lunch, Clyde McBride typically finds himself at the usual table with his friends.

Today isn't any ordinary day, though—Clyde and his two main friends, Rusty and Zach, were excited, as they had received an invitation to hang out from their distanced friend, Lincoln Loud. They want to return the favor, and long to spend their lunch with him.

Clyde approaches a table where his red-haired, Zach, sits alone. "Hey, Zach!" he shouts, successfully getting his attention. "Looks like you beat me to it. You're the first one here, it's no competition though." He walks up to the table, and stands directly in front of his friend.

"Ha! I know. I won today." Zach boasts, with an obvious tone of sarcasm. "You're honestly so bad at this!"

Clyde facepalms. "Your locker is like, closer to the cafeteria, so you didn't accomplish anything." Clyde protests, annoyed at his friend's vaunting behavior. "There's no need to act like you won the lottery."

Zach shakes his head, laughing a bit. "I was just playing around, can you not identify sarcasm? Here, grab a seat, nobody's sitting next to me." he says, slapping his hand on the unoccupied spot next to him. "I'm a loner, and I don't like being one."

"Bet!" Clyde says. He walks around the table and sits next to his friend. The two aren't alone for long though, as their friend Rusty makes it to the cafeteria soon after. They both spot him amidst the mass of students.

"Oh look, there's Rusty. Looks like he's here early as well—perfect timing." Zach points out. Clyde looks in his direction and immediately recognizes his distinct hairstyle—orange curly hair. Rusty stands tall above the surrounding students, as he grew to a height of six feet one inch over the years. He often lied about his height though, and would tell others that he was six feet three inches, or six feet four inches. Unfortunately for Rusty, most people saw right through his lies.

"What's up? I survived!" Rusty greets, walking up to their table. "I'm so glad I didn't get trampled in the halls. You should've seen how crazy it was, it definitely got worse since you've been here."

He recalls earlier, being pushed around in a herd of rushing students. It was embarrassing—he had to awkwardly ask students to move, as they blocked and surrounded his locker. They were a bit annoyed with Rusty even though they were partly at fault. He hated the crowded hallways—it was a pain to navigate, especially when the temperature soared and the air smelt of everyone's essence.

"Oh, I feel you man." Zach says, relating to his friend's emphasis on the student stampedes. "What are you waiting for? Come sit down, Godzilla." Rusty plops down next to Zach, who's now surrounded by two of his friends. He can't help but enjoy the attention he gets for his height, because otherwise, he wouldn't get much attention, and knowing Rusty, that would severely hurt his big ego.

"What'd you guys get for lunch?" wonders Rusty, eying his two friend's lunches. He was undoubtedly a curious soul, especially when it came to food—he loved eating. Nothing was more satisfying than filling your belly after a long work period. He also credited food for his height, claiming that nutrition played a vital role in his growth.

"Uh, probably a peanut butter and jelly sandwich…. You?" Clyde peers into his lunchbox to verify his claim. "Yeah, it is." Rusty shrugs and gestures to a brown paper bag he brought to the table.

"I don't know what I got for lunch. My dad gave me a surprise." Rusty says, unraveling a brown paper bag. He stretches the bag's opening and looks inside. "Ugh. It looks like garbage. It's the usual grilled cheese, and some apple slices with peanut butter." He brings his hands to his face—an act of embarrassment. "That makes me feel like I'm in kindergarten. It's embarrassing to bring stuff like this to school! And the sad thing is, my cooking skills are in the gutter, so I can't make my own lunches."

"A grilled cheese? That's not garbage…" Clyde argues. "You know it could've been way worse. Remember that time you brought a sandwich with just lettuce to school?" He pauses for a moment to think of a clever insult. "If you do that again, Gordon Ramsay will stick those two pieces of bread on your ears... you idiot sandwich."

"That's because I made it myself and, in my defense, we had nothing to put on the sandwich really." Rusty objects. "Plus the grilled cheese is a pile of garbage. It's not even hot—just a layer of rubber-like cheese in between soggy, stone-cold bread."

"Well, what do you expect? It sits in your lunch bag wrapped in saran wrap for three hours, steaming and getting all soggy." Clyde says, "Eh, that is pretty gross to think about... it's practically creating it's own ecosystem in that container."

"You know what Rusty?" Zach jeers, "If you're so damn picky, just go buy lunch at the cafeteria. It's not that expensive plus you're probably rolling in the dough right now."

"I can't even afford a chocolate bar." Rusty deadpans.

Zach tries to come up with an insult, but he fails to do so. "Yeah, well... uh... so... Ugh! whatever, just keep lying…" Zach utters. Before he could continue talking, he spots a familiar face in the background—it's their friend, Stella. "Oh look, there's Stella."

The three scan the cafeteria and spot Stella, a tall slender girl who's dressed in a white t-shirt with a red-star in the middle and dark blue jeans. She's seemingly walking towards them.

"Hey Stella!" Clyde waves. "Are you joining us?"

"Of course…?" she says. "Why else would I come here? I always sit here... well most of the time." Sometimes, she would sit with other girls from her classes. Over the years, her friend circle grew past them, and she'd occasionally hang out with her new friends—though she'd often try to hang out with her long-term friends.

"I was just asking, come sit down. There's a free spot there." Clyde insists, gesturing to a spot across from them. "We're taking up all the space on this side of the table. It's not easy sitting with these fatsos." Rusty and Zach give their friend annoyed glares. "Aw, come on guys, I was just joking!"

"Sure, no problem." Stella giggles. She sits down across from them. "You guys seem much happier today." Clyde nods excitedly, knowing well that today he'd get to spend time with Lincoln, and discuss plans on their first hangout after a ghastly period of silence.

"Great, now we're close to a full deck!" Rusty exclaims. "We're just missing Liam." Clyde groans and shakes his head, and Rusty immediately understands why. "I left Lincoln out for a reason... face it Clyde, he's not going to join us today. Him and Birtz should be in the cafeteria already and if they aren't here we can't invite them. What time is it Stella?" The girl glances at her wristwatch for a brief moment, then stares back up to announce the time.

"It's eleven forty-five." she says.

"See Clyde?" Rusty nags. "He's fifteen minutes late. That's half of the time we're already given to eat." Clyde doesn't like his friend's attitude—he didn't find it very respectful to jump to conclusions—especially in this scenario.

"What about Liam? He's not here yet!" points out Clyde.

"I know that he's got a strict teacher, she's probably keeping them from leaving." Rusty suggests. "She's done it before."

"Rusty, you're so hard-headed. Think of the possibilities. Lincoln's group can be stuck in traffic on the way back, plus that laboratory they went to is in another city. Can't you be a little more considerate?" argues Clyde. "Cut the man some slack..."

"Ugh, I see we're back to arguing. Just stop, Liam is right there, and he doesn't need to be welcomed with this." Stella says. The four locate Liam, who sports a striped blue t-shirt and long brown pants. He has orange hair styled into a bowl cut.

"Hey y'all!" he says. "How were your classes?"

"Fine..." Stella says, her voice drifting off.

"Good, but I got my phone taken away first period. Luckily I got it back before we left. Man, that was embarrassing." Rusty replies.

"They were fine, but art class was unbearable. Rusty and Zach were being so immature and annoying." states Clyde.

"Sure, go ahead and say that, big mouth." counters Zach. "You were yapping away just as much as me and Rust."

"I guess..?" Clyde says. "Most of it was just talking back."

"Still counts as smartassery." says Rusty.

"Man, you fellers don't seem to get along." says Liam, sitting next to Stella. "Why are you always talking about your problems?" Though Liam had a valid point, Rusty dismisses it, and claims that it's just their nature—and that it isn't out of the ordinary, either.

"You don't seem to understand, most friends here love to have pissing contests." Rusty states. "That's just us messing around and having fun. We're all good friends."

"What? Pissing contests?" Stella asks. "Like… who can pee the most? That's weird..."

"No!" laughs Clyde. "It means that most friends in the school like to make each other mad, or in other words, piss them off."

"I was joking..." claims Stella.

"Uh, sure thing." Clyde awkwardly says. Before they could continue their conversation, they're interrupted when an unfamiliar voice sounds behind their table.

"Hello?"

They all look at a boy who's standing behind Liam, one who hasn't interacted with them before. He's wearing a large black hoodie, zipped down to reveal a plain white t-shirt. He's also wearing light blue denim jeans, which stretched down until his ankles, exposing white socks that accompanied red and white basketball shoes. He has striking brown hair that's styled messily but also tidy. Zach, Rusty and Clyde immediately recognize him—it's Birtz.

"I'd like to introduce myself, my name's Birtz." he greets them, feeling awkward upon seeing a few of the kids at the table giving him weird stares. "I'm friends with Lincoln, we share a lot of classes together."

Zach, Rusty and Clyde can't help but feel strange that Birtz is approaching them on his own. They were planning to invite him and Lincoln to join them at lunch, yet Lincoln is noticeably absent and nowhere to be seen. The white-haired boy definitely came to school today—so what's the buzz? Is Lincoln purposefully ignoring them? No, he can't be doing something so ridiculous, for sure.

"Hi, Birtz. Name's Stella." Stella says, standing up and shaking Birtz's hand. "Lincoln only says good things about you. He can write a bestseller with all of the things he says."

"Really?" Birtz chuckles. He feels satisfied to know Lincoln was happy with him—though he never had any doubts in the first place.

"Hey, I'm Liam." the farm boy says, while Stella sits back down. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." says Birtz. "May I sit next to you?"

"Sure, of course you can!" he replies.

Birtz takes a seat next to Liam. The question of Lincoln's whereabouts nag the hell out of Clyde, prompting him to question Birtz on the matter.

"Have you seen Lincoln around, Birtz?" asks Clyde. "My name's Clyde, by the way. The tall kid next to me is Rusty and the guy with glasses is Zach. I've been Lincoln's best friend since elementary school."

"Yeah, I've heard a lot about you. Lincoln always talks about you, especially about how you've been loyal from day one. He's also said that you've been a very supportive friend and a very collaborative one too. He told me he's been planning to bring your little gang back to it's old glory."

"Then, where is he?" puzzles Zach. "If he wants to hang out with us more, then why is he absent."

"He was feeling sick. Honestly, he looked terrible. Something happened during our science field trip that I can't really explain. After that he seemed nervous, broken down and tired. He said that he might've came down with something, but he'd try to stick around anyway. But unfortunately, it worsened to the point that he had to go home early. His dad picked him up a few minutes ago. I hope he's alright." clarifies Birtz.

"Probably just didn't want to be with us," mutters Rusty, earning a glare from Clyde. He kicks Rusty's shin, which is concealed by the table. "Ow, what was that for?"

"Overthinking and jumping to conclusions." Clyde says.

The others start to feel a hint of worry. The Genetics Laboratory of Detroit had some pretty dangerous specimens, which they were fully aware of. It should only be a coincidence that he feels sick there, he could've easily caught a virus beforehand, right? …Right? The Genetics Laboratory of Detroit has very strong security anyways since it's open to visitors, especially student visitors.

"Man, I hope he's alright." frets Zach.

"Me too." says Stella.

Rusty starts to feel bad for the stuff he said earlier. "Maybe it was a bit harsh of me to say that..." His concern for Lincoln creeps up on him. "Now that I think about it... stuff could've gone wrong..." He pauses for a moment. "Very wrong."

"Well, yeah, obviously..." his nerdy friend responds. "He'll be fine though. Lincoln's a tough cookie, and this is coming from a guy who's known him for six years."

"Yeah, he'll be okay, right?" asks Rusty.

"Of course." Clyde says. "Now stop being a baby!" They both have a laugh.

"Well, Birtz, would you like to tell us about yourself?" asks Stella, only to get a small period of silence in return. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, I do want to talk! I just have a problem with eating with new people, like I find it too awkward... Want to talk outside when they turn us loose? I'd love to get to know you guys better. Maybe even... join your gang... you know?" says Birtz.

"Sure, it's fine with me." replies Stella.

"Suits me." agrees Rusty.

"Suits me, too." says Zach.

"Yeah, whatever's fine with you. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable." states Clyde.

"Wouldn't hurt to." says Liam.

"Sweet, talk to you guys later!" Birtz says, leaving the friends to continue their original conversation. "Meet me outside, by the park bench."

"Alright!"

It seems that Birtz will be able to get along with Lincoln's friends just fine. Hopefully, Lincoln will be able to satisfy his wish and restore the gang back to it's former glory. Back to the days where they'd solve school mysteries together, create plans together, host monthly traditions and hang out on the regular, all while adding Birtz to the equation. Time will tell—even though they were off to a good start.

However, things weren't faring well for their white-haired friend.

On Franklin Avenue, the front door of the Loud residence is unlocked and opened, revealing Lynn Loud Senior and his only son Lincoln Loud. The sun shines on the teenager's distinctive white hair until he steps into the house—any luminous qualities on his attire also disappeared. His father follows suit and shuts the door behind them. His son appears to be broken down and tired. Lincoln's eyelids are feeling heavy while his legs are shaky and weak. Rita Loud has been eagerly awaiting her son's arrival upon hearing that he had suddenly fallen ill. She's sitting at the dining room table, from which she can see the front door and the living room.

"Hi sweetie, I heard you weren't feeling well today." she says, worrying after catching a glimpse on Lincoln's condition. He appears to be hot, his eyes are half-open and his breathing is heavy.

"Oh, I'll be fine, mom." Lincoln assures. "I'm just feeling a little run down, so you don't need to worry. I'll go get some rest."

"Are you sure…? You look hot, almost sweaty." Rita worries. She loves all her children—and she has a very close bond with her son. She couldn't bear the thought of something happening to him, and it shook her to the core.

"It's nothing. I think I just have cold sweats—I'm feeling pretty hot but very cold." Lincoln says nonchalantly, heading for the stairs. "I'm going up to my room now to get some shuteye, if that's okay." His response send waves of doubt into their parents—he seemed oddly calmer than usual. They'd usually expect a tired, broken down voice, but this time around it wasn't the case.

"Well, would you like something to eat before you leave?" asks Rita. "You came home before you could eat anything for lunch."

"I'm not too hungry right now. " Lincoln says, now making his way up the stairs.

"Are you sure buddy?" Lynn Sr. verifies. "Not even a banana?" He takes a second to watch his son. His steps seemed normal, but heavy. "A glass of water?"

"No thanks." is all Lincoln says before reaching the top of the stairs, turning the corner and disappearing in the upstairs hallway.

"What was that all about?" A worried Lynn Sr. asks his wife, who was equally as concerned. The two parental figures stare at each other before both darting their eyes to the top of the stairs. This isn't the way their children would normally respond when sick.

Meanwhile, Lincoln enters his room and shuts the door before him. He drops his backpack onto the floor, and the shift of weight stuns him. He stumbles backwards, nearly tripping over the discarded bag.

"My god, what's wrong with me?" he thinks while taking off his shirt. The cotton from the inside feels damp as it slides along his skin. Once he pulls the bottom of the shirt from his back, he drops it to the floor and looks down at his chest, which was practically glistening from his sweat. "The hell? Why am I so sweaty?"

He looks back up, but instead of seeing his room normally, it's in circles. Everything in his sight goes in and out of focus, and it combines with the room's persistent spinning to create a nauseating sight that sends Lincoln tumbling backwards. Fortunately, the small size of his room stops him from completely falling, and he ends up just backing into his dresser, which sits to the left of his room.

"Shoot. I should just get to bed right away."

He tries to make it to his bed which only sits a few feet away from him. Unfortunately, the nauseating vision carries on and his steps are too slow and heavy. The overwhelming conditions are too much for the poor boy and he trips, falling to his knees with a large thud. Refusing to give up, the dedicated youth grabs onto the edge of his mattress, pulling himself up with any strength left in his already weak arms. Though he's eventually able to get onto his bed, he has no will to make an effort anymore.

Lincoln had never experienced something like this before. It was scary for the lad, given his age, but fear was absent from his thoughts. At this point, he was too tired to even think. He just wanted some rest.

He raises his arm up, and takes one last daunting look at the spider-bite.

"...It was just a normal bite.." he says, reassuring himself. Tension started to release, and his world went dark.

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End of Chapter 1

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed this, and congratulations for making it through the whole thing. (Behemoth of a chapter) My throat literally died trying to read through this whole thing. By the way, I'm really testing the waters with the few first chapters.

Though you shouldn't trust these at all, here's an expected date for the release of the next chapter: April 30th (About 60% (?) done the draft, and it should take me a week to edit. That's just my guess, though.)

I'm also considering writing a French translation since I can speak both...

I'm more than happy to answer your questions, too. I respect your thoughts all the time, criticism is always welcome and my DMs are open. Let me know what you think. Have a good day everybody.