LH- Teller9998: *Tips fedora* Thanks, M'lady
JRZTT1246: Might have one-sided incest. If that isn't your cup of tea then I completely understand. You might want to pass on this one though.
reddj3012: Ohhhh boy and here I thought the theme of Lincoln getting a second chance because of his own fuck ups was something I shoved down readers throats so much, everyone would avoid telling me to start bashing the other characters. And while yes, the sister is equally as faulty here, Lincoln isn't perfect. He does and did mistakes too.
Rest assured though, everyone will suffer in different ways through various degrees. For example, they are going to suffer from Lincoln's sudden maturity being more and more apparent and deal with how to cope with him moving on from them to become his own person.
The frosty morning was replaced with the dreary dusk; replacing the cold atmosphere was something far more chilling. Lincoln never really liked that time of day. What would make it worse is the deed that will mark that one particular evening, beginning a chain of vigilant, morally ambiguous events and grizzly murders that would echo and haunt through the quiet streets of Royal Wood, Michigan from 2016 and onward and possibly the whole Midwest of the USA.
Lincoln bicycled ahead, an alone, dark and unassuming figure not contrasting the sunset behind him. Fumes of cold air would blow from his mouth once in a while from just the slightest of exertion. Courtesy of his gamer body. Before he suddenly stops and glances up at the Sewage household. A well-off, above the middle-class house with a tended, cute garden and trees. Oh! And there are some guards at the entrance gate?
He didn't expect someone like Charles to have his conscience as a guardian. So it came to no surprise that he had to rely on meat bags. Meat bags he will not guiltily test his destructive gentle fist on.
Too bad he'll probably have to burn that down afterwards. Oh well.
For the first time since he got it, his eyes turned milky akin to a ghost and nerves around his two orifices bulged and became more prominent.
His face remained blank but from inside, he was bubbling in excitement.
A cleared throat from beside him snapped him out of it. He shot his glowing palm forward and his other one backwards while angling his legs in an amateurish formation on instinct.
He turned around ready to leave the threat into a giant mess of destroyed organs and nerves when he came face to face with the glorious rack of none other than Maria Casagrande, eldritch extraordinaire.
"Hey~" The woman, still in nurse's custom, greeted with a smirk while waving her hand slightly.
"Wha- you- WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?" Lincoln sputtered while holding an accusatory finger towards her.
"Uhhh~ I got so bored~ I wanted to watch your progress." Maria stretched her arms while sighing dramatically.
"WOMAN. CAN'T YOU SEE I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING IMPORTANT??" Lincoln whispered harshly, clutching his jacket tighter while harshly kicking the grass on the ground from frustration.
"Ummm.. Duh. Yes. That's why I'm here. You're finally doing something that doesn't involve chores." Maria replied to him with a raised eyebrow.
Lincoln glanced at the guards and then looked back at her.
"Look...just leave. I don't want to get spotted on my first job and-" He was cut off by her palm being shoved over his mouth. She then gestured at one of the guards who suddenly stilled and began to tentatively walk in their direction.
Lincoln began cursing under his breath and in a surprising show of acrobatics, did a spinning vault over the nearest bush while Maria disappeared in a cloud with eyes.
The guard, clueless, made his way towards the bush...
...Only to get jumped by a phantom
Lincoln's small frame shot like an avalanche straddling the poor guard, causing him to stumble back and fall.
Lincoln raised his glowing fist and hit.
Two palms!
He struck him 2 times in the chest, already breaking most of his ribs and bruising his lungs which made the guy cough blood.
Four palms!
Lincoln's palms blurred faster, reaching and blocking another four tenketsu with a primal and coordinated brute force that reeked of inexperience and viciousness.
Eight palms!
Lincoln stopped straining his Byakugan and instead opted to blur the other eight more strikes which carved the guard's chest in a little.
Lincoln was about to lay down another sixteen when he paused from his vicious assault by the sound of a blood-curdling scream.
He slowly glanced at the other 5 security guards who were aiming their Colt-1911 at him.
Lincoln hurriedly rolled away from the corpse and the tide of bullets that were about to cap him.
He stood and angled his feet back forward and his other leg forward and stood more confidently. He then raised his arms in an arc around his head with one fist raised forward. The bullets rained on him and his hands worked by themselves, swatting it away with just some bruises as the result of their efforts.
Lincoln smirked and blurred forward.
Sixteen palms.
Lincoln's hands drilled something at incredible speeds; producing whipping sounds and making blood spray at his clothes, the ground and other guards
Thirty-two palms
[Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms]
Eventually, what entailed Lincoln to the deaths of his opponents was the sudden silence and wet sound that hit the ground. Even then, he kept spinning and striking the air at unnatural speeds; still lost in the haze.
[Gamer mind activated]
He froze mid-strike and started panting while pulling his palms back. He ran his bloody palms through his blood-stained soft hair and basked in the silence of the clearing and the wind of the rapidly approaching night.
He killed people and he didn't feel bad about it…
He'd wager that these people were dogs paid by a scumbag with no regard for human life, but he would be lying if he said that he cared enough to make such a justification. And at least he gets the assurance that what he might do next won't lay heavily in his conscience. He wasn't just going to kill Charles Sewage, he would be effectively orphaning Chandler and leaving him and his already abused mother homeless too.
But he again...didn't find it in himself to care.
Why should he uphold morals and account for consequences when older, wiser people did the opposite of so just for their own gratification? In what world is it okay for a little girl to suffer, have no one care about her plight and all whilst nothing happens for the victimizer because whoever can do so is folding their hands busy being little morally upright shitheads?
Not this world. This world is HIS fucking territory. Not the United Nations'. Not Rothschild's. HIS. And any other cowardly mindset classic Lincoln would've had here should wilt and die a sad death. If he wants to get the gears going and not fuck up as a person again, he'll have to start doing things his way.
He held the power. He knew better. He was super-
Lincoln shook his head rapidly and slapped his face multiple times.
Where did that train of thought come from?
Lincoln stared ahead a little horrified.
He then henge'd into Chloe
Fake Chloe hopped easily over the gate and knocked on the door quietly; awaiting a response. A door opened cautiously, revealing a maid.
"Oh! Hello sweetie! What are you doing here?" The seemingly oblivious maid asked sweetly.
Fake Chloe shot a mana bolt through her chest, making the young woman's body still for a microsecond before it fell on the porch with a heap. Fake Chloe carefully stepped around her corpse; not paying any mind to it. In his mind, it was a completely justified fate for anyone who had the choice of working for him and picked it up.
Fake Chloe wiped his shoes on the doormat and walked inside the house.
Inside the house was spacious, and housed all forms of art pieces ranging from bizarre post-modern statues to mundane replicas to greater Thomas Kinkade pieces.
Overall, a sufficient enough fuel to burn down a house.
His vision zeroed on a small Maltese puppy with a bow tie on its head wagging its tail and paddling towards him. With a sigh, he picked it up and began patting its head softly.
"We should get you out of here, little guy. You don't want to get caught up with all of this." Fake Chloe said, his voice coming out as Lincoln's. He looked at his morph and hummed to himself.
"The disguise is good enough I guess. I gotta work on the voice though. Oh well, it will creep the bastard out more that way." He shrugged to himself and placed the dog out of the house. And made his way upstairs.