Guest: I answer you at the bottom.

Vale drifted in and out of consciousness, disjointed sounds and images penetrating the fog in his brain. He was slumped against cool glass, his eyelids fluttering and blood gushing from his nose, then he was being pulled out of the truck and dragged across a dusty dooryard. "He's heavier 'n he looks," a man grunted. Stars twinkled in the clear night sky, then blinking yellow light stung his eyes. Darkness came over him again, and didn't clear until he was being forcibly shoved into a chair. Faces floated over him, Lyah, grinning devilishly, and the white haired man from the gas station, his brown eyes sparkling with sadistic glee. He knelt, lashed Vale's right hand to the wooden arm with a heavy rope, and knotted it. Vale's ears rang and his head swayed drunkenly back and forth.

They were in a kitchen lit by the muted glow of overhead lights, cabinets and counters, dirty paper peeling from the wall in long strips. A white stove stood against one wall, a tall metal pot on one of the burners. Wind chimes dangled from the ceiling. Vale blinked, and realized that they weren't wind chimes at all but long strings threaded through human bones: fingers, toes, and others for which he had no name. Skulls favored him from the counter with wide, gaping sockets and fleshless smiles. Flies buzzed over the crowded sink, and a plate next to the stove bore an assortment of what looked like body parts. Vale spied a hand, and he sucked a reflexive breath of hot, foul smelling air.

A table lay before him, its surface rough and scarred. Across from him, a being that resembled Jabba the Hutt leered hungrily, its beady black eyes lost in the rippling folds of its face. It flicked its tongue out and suggestively lapped its moist, pink lips. It wore a sleeveless floral mumu, its massive, gelatinous arms rippling like pallid sheets as it shifted its titanic girth. Blonde hair covered its swollen head, a tiny cowlick waving like a mocking hand. It rasped for breath as though it had just exerted itself, and its fat sausage fingers kneaded the edge of the table. Something moved in his periphery, and he turned his head to find a thin woman with shoulder length blonde hair clad in a simple blue dress standing to one side supervising. Her lips were pressed severely together and her arms crossed savagely over her scrawny chest. Vale opened his mouth to speak, but only a broken moan came out.

"Found him tryna get away," Lyah explained. Their gazes locked and her smile sharpened at the corners. "He's lucky no bobcats got him."

Logan snickered and got to his feet, his hands going to his ample hips. "He sure is," he said, "lots of critters out there." He leaned over Vale, and the black man's heart stopped mid-beat. "And they just love that dark meat." His rank breath broke across Vale's face, and he turned away. The thin woman glared sourly, her face lined with wrinkles and her blue eyes like flecks of ice. "What 'bout the other?" Logan asked. "The woman?"

"Lemtard went after her," she said.

The woman? Abby.

Vale's chest crushed and his stomach churned. Did she take the gun? He tried to remember, but his head hurt and thinking was hard; everything before the truck was hazy, like visions glimpsed through thick mist. A chair creaked, and Vale darted his eyes to the blob; it stared at him with a lopsided little grin that sent shivers down his spine. "Can we have him tonight?" she asked huskily.

"Liena, you know you're on a diet," Lyah said, "you can't have no dark meat."

A look of downtrodden desolation crossed Liena's face, and she sent her eyes to the table in the most obvious hangdog expression Vale had ever seen. "But I like dark meat," she skulked.

"You gotta lose some of that weight first," Lyah said, "then you can have it."

Logan crossed to an old fashioned refrigerator, yellow linoleum cracking underfoot, and took out a bottle of beer while Lyah dropped into a chair next to Liena. Another skull, this one cracked and pockmarked with craters, stared up at Vale from the center of the table, next to a wooden bowl full of what looked like human teeth. Lyah grabbed it, pulled it close, and sprinkled it with salt, then plopped a handful into her mouth. "Want some?" she asked Liena.

"Yes, please." The fat woman dipped her hand in and shoved it to her lips.

"Don't swallow 'em," Lyah said.

Where was he? God, what kind of awful fucking place was this?

Logan leaned against the counter and used a bottle opener to pry the cap off his beer; the tall woman let her arms fall to her sides and went over to the stove. "Supper almost ready?" he asked.

"Shortly," the woman said over her shoulder.

Lyah and Liena swished the teeth back and forth in their mouths like hard candies, and Vale finally found his voice. "L-Let me out. P-Please. I'm sorry, just please let me go."

"You ain't goin' nowhere," Lyah said around her snack, "we ain't had dinner yet."

The tall woman lifted the lid off the pot and stirred the contents with a wooden spoon; Vale could only imagine what was inside. "P-Please," he begged, "I-I won't tell anyone, j-just let me go."

He meant it, too. He wouldn't tell anyone - he'd never look back or even think about this. He didn't even know what was going on, didn't care, God, he just wanted to leave and go home. "Please," he repeated, tears welling in his eyes.

"Here come the wah-wahs!" Lyah taunted. Logan threw his head back and let out a faux cry, and swallowing like she was told not to, Liena fisted one hand to the corner of her eye, her arm fat jiggling. Lyah joined Logan's moaning, and their voices rose in a crescendo of mocking, dog-like howls. Lyah slammed her fist against the table and Liena's titanic chest and stomach hitched with her stifled laughter.

"Pweez let me go," Logan pouted.

"I ain't gon' tell no one," Lyah said.

Vale's tears fell faster and his skull throbbed with clawing panic. Lyah tilted her head back and belted out a long, doleful bray, and the tall woman cringed. "Will y'all hush?" she spat.

The three fell silent like throwing a switch.

"Y'all actin' like a bunch of damn fools." She slammed the pot lid angrily down and threw the spoon onto the stove. Liena hung her head and Lyah darted her gazed scoldedly to the table, sucking on the loose teeth like a reprimanded baby on its pacifier. Logan simply took another drink of his beer and belched. "He's takin' too long," she grumbled. "He shoulda been back already." She crossed to the back door, opened it, and leaned out, here head turning from side to side as she scanned the night. Vale sucked his quivering lips into his mouth and tried to keep from breaking down, but the tears came anyway. "Put somethin' in his damn mouth," the woman snapped and closed the door. "I don't wanna hear it."

Logan sat his bottle down. "'Right." He opened a drawer and dug around, then brought out a dish cloth. He came up behind Vale, stretched it out like a mob hitman with a length of piano wire, and pulled it around Vale's head. The fabric bunched in his mouth and he tried desperately to push it out with his tongue, but Logan knotted it tight. Vale let out a muffled cry, and Logan's fist slammed into the back of his skull, driving his face to the table. "Shut your goddamn mouth, boy," Logan hissed. "Don't no one wanna hear you."

Vale lifted his head and looked frantically around the room like a cornered animal for salvation, but there was none to be had. The tall woman stood by the back door with her arms crossed and her foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the linoleum, lending her the appearance of a displeased mother waiting for her wayward teenage son to come home drunk.

"I'm sure it's alright, Aunt Lori," Logan said and shuffled over to his beer. "That boy don't know much, but he can hunt." He spoke with the utmost confidence. Vale, woozy and sick to his stomach from the constant blows to the head, fought to keep from passing out again, certain that if he did, he would never wake up.

Lori's nostrils flared and her lips twisted bitterly. "I don't like it, he shoulda been back here ten minutes ago. I bet he messed it up somehow." She broke, went back to the stove, and braced her hands on the edge. She shook her head back and forth and took a deep, calming breath. Lyah leaned over the bowl, spat the teeth out, then shot Vale a dirty look. She presented her neck, pressed her thumb to her throat, and slowly mimed cutting.

Vale moaned.

"Get in the pantry and gimme that cornbread mix," Lori said in general.

Draining his beer, Logan went to do as Lori asked, and Vale sucked deep breaths through his nose. He was close to hyperventilating and if he didn't get a hold of himself, he would devolve into a quaking mess. God, he hoped Abby was alright.

Logan carried a box of cornbread mix over to the stove and sat it on the counter. Lori snatched it up and tore it open, her movements curt and quick. "If he ain't back soon, I want you to take the truck and go lookin' for him."

"Alright," Logan said.

Vale tested his hands, but his bonds were too strong. He flicked his eyes around the room once more, his mind racing. There was nothing he could do - he was stuck, trapped, at the mercy of a group of sadists and God only knew what was going to happen to him. His breathing increased and he squeezed his eyes closed. If he gave in to panic, he would die. He forced himself to calm down. He had to think...there had to be something, some way of getting out. He attempted to roll his wrist, but the rope bit into his flesh. His fingers were numb and cold, the blood flow cut off.

When the back door opened, Vale opened his eyes and turned, his mouth falling open in horror at the thing in the threshold. Six feet tall, maybe more, with a hump on its back, scraggly, greasy hair veiling its eyes, and a sloped brown suggesting evolutionary regression, it was a study in genetic abnormality, from its crooked teeth to its ungodly long fingernails. Its skin was rough and calloused, like that of a frog, and its flat lips added to its lizard-like appearance. The brown eyes peeking through its tangled hair were fevered and void of intelligence, the lights on, Vale thought, but nobody home. It wore a tattered T-shirt with HOT STUFF printed on the chest, padded yellow football style pants that stopped just below its knees, and a white bicycle helmet on its head - SPECIAL #1 LEMY scrawled across in crayon. A bandana was tied around his neck, a poorly drawn cow skull so much like the human skulls on the counter. The wind blew, and the thing's smell found Vale's nose.

In its hands, it carried a giant chainsaw with a green body and a blood splattered blade. It hung its head in a gesture of contrition and stayed where it was, looking for all the world like a small boy who had committed some terrible deed and knew it would be severely punished.

Lori looked up from the stove and narrowed her eyes. Lyah twisted around in her seat and donned a malevolent smile, her twitching nose reminding Vale of a small, bloodthirsty animal sensing the advent of discord and wanting a front row seat. Liena, her doughy face sheened in sweat, fanned herself with her hand; for the first time, Vale became aware of just how unbearably hot it was in the house.

"Where is she?" Lori demanded.

Lemtard stared down at his feet. Lori turned to face him, bending slightly forward at the waist and hunching her shoulders. "Where. Is. She. Lemtard?" Something akin to fear crept into her voice, and Vale licked his lips. Abby. They were talking about Abby. From Lemtard's stooped posture, he inferred that she escaped. "Did you let her get away?"

When Lemtard didn't reply, Lori stalked forward, the wooden spoon clasped in a white knuckled death grip. Lemtard looked up and squealed in holy terror. The chainsaw fell from his hands, and he ducked to right, bumping into the counter and throwing his thick arms protectively over his face. Lyah watched with a giddy smile and bounced excitedly in her chair as Lori advanced on Lemtard, her finger jabbed in front of her and the spoon quivering like a divining rod sniffing water. The giant had at least two feet and two hundred pounds on her, a kitten to a hulking bulldog, but he cowered regardless, his epic frame shaking with fear. Logan crossed his arms over his broad chest and smirked. "You let her get away, didn't you?"

"Uhhhgahhh," Lemtard groaned.

"YOU LET HER GET AWAY!" Lori drew back the spoon and brought it down hard on his forearm with a meaty thwack. Lemtard uttered a yelp, and Lori hit him again, then again, the spoon rising and falling, each slap sharper than the last. Lemtard fled at a shamble, Lori hot on his heels, her face contorted in hatred and her bangs stirring with every blow. Lyah laughed with insane abandon, and Logan hissed through his teeth, neither one seeming to fully comprehend that Abby getting away meant they might very well be going to jail. "YOU. STUPID. USELESS. THING.." She rained a hail of slaps down on Lemtard's back. "YOU LET HER GET AWAY! NOW WHAT?"

"Lahhhh!" he gurgled. "Gahhhhh!"

Lori stopped her assault, panting, her eyes boring through her harried bangs. "He did?" she asked.

Lemtard nodded vigorously; Vale caught a glimpse of its face and was surprised (and disturbed) to see tears glimmering upon its pimply cheeks. Lori fought to catch her breath and seemed to mellow, only to darken once more. She raised the spoon, and Lemtard whined like a kicked dog. "You let her get away," Lori repeated, lower this time, without force. Lyah banged her open palm on the table, and like a shot, Lori spun on her, the spoon thrust out in front like a mighty sword."SHUT UP!" Lori roared, and Lyah's face paled.

She looked at Lemtard again, and the monster flinched. "You're lucky," Lori said. She turned and went to the stove.

Where was he? Vale wondered earlier.

Now he knew.

Hell.

He was in hell.

"I don't like doin' this," the cop mused, "but there's a lotta things in life you gotta do whether you like 'em or not."

Abby lay on her side in the back seat, her knees drawn to her chest in a sloppy fetal position. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and a burlap sack covered her head. It was hot, itchy, and suffocating, her exhalations humid; tears leaked from her closed eyes and mingled with snot, the taste salty on her lips.

The tires dipped into a pothole and the frame jostled. "Family does for family," the cop said. The car slowed, then turned left; Abby slid and almost fell onto the floor, but braced her shoulder against the seat at the last minute.

How long had they been driving? It felt like forever but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Long enough at any rate for her sobbing to taper off and for it to fully sink in that she and her baby were going to die.

That sent her into another crying fit; she closed her eyes, bore down on her bottom lip with her teeth, and hitched in silent misery. The car jumped and shuddered, telling her they were on an unpaved road - most likely the one she, Flagg, and Vale broke down on - and the cop sighed. "You just count yourself fortunate, lil' girl, things are gon' work out for you."

What did that mean? She didn't know and was too distraught to puzzle it out. She flexed her wrists, trying to wiggle them out of the cuffs, but they were too tight. She pulled at them, right then left, but they wouldn't budge. Irrational frustration bubbled up in her chest, and she gritted her teeth and worked harder, rotating her wrist in a futile effort to free herself. The metal chafed her flesh, digging into it like the closing teeth of a predator. Her heart thumped and her stomach fluttered; if only she could get one hand out…

"The hell is he doin'?" the cop asked, and she froze. The car slowed and came to a rolling stop. Muttering to himself, he put it in park, threw open the door, and got out.

Now was her chance.

"Where you comin' from?" he asked. Abby did not see the figure revealed in the headlights, did not see the cop draw his nightstick.

"I-I was on the road," a familiar voice said.

Abby sat upright, her hands pressing into the small of her back, and inched to the door. "Where you comin' from?" the cop spat. Someone replied, their voice too low for her to hear. She felt for the handle with questing fingertips, and when she brushed it, her heart soared.

"You been at that damn cemetery, huh?" The cop's tone was bitter, dripping with loathing and disdain. He sounded like a man speaking to someone he abhorred and exerting every ounce of self-restraint he had to keep from throttling them. Abby groped for the handle, but couldn't get her fingers around it. Letting out an irritated sigh, she twisted around, backed up to it, and grabbed it. Steeling herself for a fall, she pulled it.

It wouldn't open.

Her heart dropped into her stomach and she pulled again, harder.

Nothing.

Outside, feet scuffled in the dirt, and someone squealed. "I spent three hours pickin' up body parts 'cause of you!"

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

"S-STOP H-HITTING ME!"

Thunk!

Soft sobbing followed.

"Go on to the house," the cop said, closer now, and a jolt of electric fright panged through her, "I'm gonna need your help with her."

She let go of the handle and scooted quickly away. The cop climbed in with a grunt, slammed the door, and started driving again. Light fell across the sack and Abby could just make out the profile of a building.

They could be anywhere, but Abby had the sneaking suspicion that she already knew where they were.

A lump of ice formed in her throat and she started to hyperventilate. Horrible images of what would happen to her once they got her inside flickered through her head in a hellish slideshow. Rape, torture, a thousand other things she could see but dared not name. Her stomach clinched, and though she knew it wasn't her baby cowering in fear, she pictured it curled defensively up anyway, shaking like a small animal laid out before a vicious bird of prey. A band of panic squeezed her heart and she started to gasp for air. She couldn't let them hurt her baby. She didn't care about herself...they could do anything they wanted to her...but not to her baby, please God, not her baby.

The car parked and the engine cut, and Abby's lungs ceased functioning. They were here, moments and steps away from the grave. Now was her last chance to get away, to protect her baby. If they got her inside, it was all over - she would never come out again.

She suddenly wished Flagg was here. He would protect them; he wouldn't let anything bad happen to her or their child.

The cop got out and opened the back door, and Abby tensed. She couldn't see, her hands were chained behind her, and she was in the middle of a nowhere night. Her prospects of getting away weren't good, but she was going to try anyway. "Come on," he said. Abby didn't move fast enough for his liking, and flashing, he reached in, grabbed her by her shirt, and dragged her out, the fabric ripping in his hand. She started to yell, but cut off when she landed in the dirt. The cop pulled her to her feet, spun her around, and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. Through the bag, she could just make out a porch lit by golden light falling from a lamp presumably to one side of the door. "You try anythin' I don't like, and I'm gon' hurt you, okay?"

Before she knew what she was doing, she threw her head back with all her might; her skull connected with the cop's face and he issued a strangled umph, his grip on her neck releasing. She wrestled away, staggered to the left, and started running. The light faded and -

Someone tackled her from the left and her feet went out from under her; she went down, the air leaving her lungs in a breathless rush and her head cracking against the ground. Frantic, she kicked her legs and rolled back and forth, trying to get up, but a pair of arms grabbed under her shoulders and yanked her back. "F-F-Fuckin' b-bitch." She drove her elbow back into his stomach, and he doubled over, but did not let go.

"Hold her," the cop snarled. He grabbed her ankles, and between them, they carried her up the stairs like a cord of wood. Abby arched her back, whipped her head from one side to the other, and screamed, mindless in her terror. The man holding her arms stumbled and nearly fell. "Knock it off!" the cop barked. His fist fell on her chest, and hot pain shot into her skull. She went limp and offered no resistance as they carried her into the house. The light dimmed, and the tinny sound of a TV drifted to her like a ghostly whisper, a weatherman droning about highs and lows. They crossed into another room and the light returned. The cop sat her legs down and the other man forced her into a chair. Abby hanged her head, too weak and winded to fight, tears spilling down her face. They uncuffed her hands, then held them against the arms of the chair and wound rope around them.

Someone untied the hood and yanked it off; Abby's eyes stung, then Bobby Jr.'s face appeared in front of her. Recognition flickered in his fevered browns, and his lips turned up in an evil smile. "I-I know y-you," he said then swallowed. Doing his best Flagg, which wasn't very good at all, he said, "G-Get the f-fuck out of my c-car!" He laughed madly (hehehehehe). "I'm B-Bobby J-Jr. I-I was named after my u-uncle, not my daddy." He jabbed her in the chest with his pointer finger, and tossing her head back, she wailed mournfully. "I-I told you I had a b-big family, I told you but yoooou didn't listen." He tittered and stabbed her with both index fingers now, like a steam driven piston, left, right, left, right, each one sending whorls of pain into the center of her head.

"Get away from her," someone snapped. A tall, thin blonde woman stood at her right side with her arms crossed, the white haired man from the gas station next to her, hands on his plump hips. Bobby Jr. looked up at her but made no move to obey. She darkened and raised one threatening hand, and he scrambled away like a scolded dog.

She was at a kitchen table, Abby saw. A massive, gelatinous woman with a blonde cowlick sat across from her, the bloated fat of her arms straining against the sleeves of a flower mumu as big as a sheet. Another woman, dressed in gray coveralls like Logan's and a red cap, loomed over Abby from the left, her eyes shining with evident lust and her tongue sensually caressing her lower lip. There was no mistaking the black hunger writ across her features, and Abby gulped. She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and turned her head. Someone else was tied to a chair; in the gap between Logan and the woman, Vale's sweaty, black face stared back at her, eyes wide and tempest tossed.

They got him too.

What about Flagg?

Where was Flagg?

"She's pretty," the tall woman remarked with the nonchalance of a woman grocery shopping.

Logan hummed. "When I saw her, I said 'she'll be a good addition.' I fiddled with the engine, sent 'em this way and...you know it goes." He laughed.

Abby looked around in the irrational hope she would see Flagg coming to rescue her, what she saw instead was the stuff of nightmares. Skulls sat on the counter and bones hung from grizzly mobiles. A human trunk, its arms, legs, and head missing and its ragged flesh splattered with blood, hung from a meat hook in the corner, gore dripping into a wide metal pan beneath it. Bones on strings dangled in a doorway like hippie beads, and a skull tacked to the wall kept deathly watch, arm bones spread out on either side of it like wings. A mummified head with a light bulb shoved into its mouth served as a lamp, light emanating from its mouth, nose, eyes, and ears like a disco ball in hell.

The woman leaned over, and Abby cringed. "Don't worry, suge," the woman cooed, "I'm not gonna hurt you." She pressed her hand to Abby's cheek, her palm cool and dry like old leather. Her blue eyes regarded Abby with a soft tenderness that was somehow made all the more surreal by their surroundings. Trembling like a frightened animal, Abby broke down and began to cry.

"Aw, honey," the woman said sympathetically and stroked Abby's hair, "it's alright. We're not gonna hurt you. We just wanna make you part of the family."

The words barely registered in Abby's anguished brain. She could feel her baby, as impossible as that might seem, and it was so scared it shook. She opened her lips and tried to speak, to plea for release, but a sob escaped instead. The woman pressed Abby's head to her chest like a loving mother and grazed her nails in a lazy circle over Abby's scalp. "I promise, we're not gonna hurt you. Just relax, alright?"

"Now, Aunt Lori," the cop said, and Lori stood up straight to meet his gaze, "you gotta stop lettin' people get away like that. I can only do so much to help you. If someone who wasn't family came along, you'd all be in jail right now."

Lori's jaw clenched. "It was your cousin, Ladd, he was supposed to bring her here."

"You let him use that damn saw, didn't you?" Ladd asked tersely.

"The saw is family," Lori said in a tone that closed the matter.

The woman on Abby's left leaned over, and Abby moaned. LYAH, read the name above her breast. "You're a cutie," Lyah said and brushed her knuckles across Abby's cheek.

A shadow settled over Ladd's face. "Well, she was screaming' bloody murder and jumpin' up and down in the road."

Lyah dropped to one knee and grabbed Abby's chin, forced her head to turn. The woman's teeth were just as yellow and slanted as Bobby Jr.'s and her breath just as fetid. She nibbled her lower lip and traced the curve of Abby's jaw with her thumb. "I can't wait 'til I put my dick in you."

Across the room, Ladd walked away, his head shaking sadly. Lori followed him, her arms crossed. "Someone watch supper," she tossed over her shoulder.

As soon as she was gone, Lyah's grin took on a raw, hateful cast, and Abby was shocked to find herself hoping Lori hurried back. Logan sat next to Liena with a sigh and laced his hands behind his head, and Bobby Jr. slunk around the table as though making sure he were seen and headcannoned. Lyah got to her feet and stared intently down at Abby. Abby swallowed with an audible click. "P-Please let me go," she said brokenly.

"Sorry, hun," Logan said, "no can do."

Lyah went on staring, her shoulders rising and falling with the tide of her evil desire. "You wanna see it, honey?" she asked and licked her lips.

"W-Whip it out," Bobby Jr. chuckled from behind Abby, startling her. "Show her what a real man looks like." He giggled and slammed his hands down on Abby's shoulders, then squeezed, making her yelp.

Lyah took a step back and methodically unbuttoned her coveralls like a rapist preparing for the kill, her unwavering gaze never leaving Abby's face. Logan chuckled and Liena looked demurely away, a bright red blush spreading across her flabby cheeks.

Reaching into the flaps of her coveralls, Lyah yanked down her tightie whities, and Abby was too rapt in horror to turn away. "How do you like it?" Lyah huskily asked of her untrimmed vagina. "I'm gonna shove it in you later and get you in the family way, girl."

Abby turned away, and Bobby Jr. grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched, making her look. "T-Tell him he has a n-nice dick." Abby closed her eyes and tried to turn away, but Bobby Jr. held fast, his jagged fingernails digging into her flesh. "T-Tell him," he said more firmly.

Lyah came forward in a rustle of fabric, and when Abby felt the woman's coarse pubic hair tickling the back of her hand, she issued a low, hitching whimper. Logan cackled insane laughter, and Bobby Jr. chortled like a delighted baby. "Will you put your penis away, please?" Liena asked, scandalized.

"I'm gon' put it somewhere," Lyah said and pulled her underwear up.

They all laughed, three mocking voices shrieking psychotic joy: Logan's belly bouncing, Lyah slapping her knee, Bobby Jr. bouncing from one foot to the other. Madness overwhelmed Abby, and tossing her head back, she let loose a throat shredding squall; her head throbbed and her vision grayed, but she didn't stop…

...Until Bobby Jr. slammed her head into the table and she lost consciousness.

I assume by "official" you mean "Drawn and headcanonned by the the sin kids fandom." In which case you're absolutely right. The concept of Gen 3 characters is not a popular one there. Unless I'm misunderstanding LoudRisque's comment, however, I'm looking at No Way Home in the context of the already existing Gen 3 "scene." In that context, I think it counts as much as anything that's already been done. To the best of my knowledge, the characters in No Way Home are by far the most developed and fleshed out Gen 3 characters there are. Trillhouse has one who seems to be a weeaboo with a crush on her uncle Lemy and Pat has a Lemy daughter, but because there isn't a "market" for it, they don't bother with them with them very much. A lot of the sin kids fandom wouldn't give No Way Home a chance just like they wouldn't give Pat and Trill's stuff a chance. I see the OCs from No Way Home (both mine and Raganoxer's) as at least as official as their stuff. Really the only difference is that no one's drawn my OCs Megan and Lucas, but then again, the only people to draw Pat and Trill's Gen 3 characters of Pat and Trill themselves. Gen 3 itself is kind of a void and, I mean, that's pretty much that. No Way Home exists in a state of limbo just like the other Gen 3 things, so I see it as being in the same boat.