Authors Notes:
So the incredibly talented writer AberrantScript made me realize something while I was reading one of their works; Some people may find the contents of this story disturbing. While I can assure you of the absence of any sexual misconduct (A.I Rape, Assault, Etc.), there will be gratuitous amounts of violence, drug use, cursing, and death. Its rated M for a reason. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, by all means feel free to stop reading.
It's understandable; don't force yourself.
I'm not big on 'trigger warnings', but I felt the need to address the content of this story, and this will be the first and only time I do so.
This story isn't going to have a happy ending; edgy, I know, but what would you expect to come out of continually escalating violence?
Hopefully, most of you will stick around to find out!
Now, with that out of the way, let's get the ball rolling.
. . . . .
It wasn't always there.
That gnawing ache in the pit of his gut
The hunger that cried out for reprieve every day of his life.
Surprisingly, it used to make him feel sick.
When he was a kid, just barely thirteen, his father had taken him out hunting, as his father had done with him and so on and so forth. As it happened, Lincoln, by sheer luck, managed to score a solid eight-point buck. Lynn Sr. was ecstatic, as proud as any father could be, but as Lincoln cut his way through the animal's abdomen to remove its internal organs, he couldn't help but feel horror at what he had done.
He had taken a life; an animal at least, but a life nonetheless.
The feeling of horror was eventually overtaken by guilt, and as he helped his father load it into the back of his grandfather's borrowed truck, the unease only deepened.
Two weeks passed, and the feeling still hadn't lightened.
He became quiet, sullen; silently going through the motions of everyday life without nary a word, his family watching in curiosity and apprehension.
Rita, concerned for her son's change in demeanor and his refusal to talk to his parents, called the boy's grandfather, as the two had always shared a special relationship.
Once Albert was filled in on the situation, he knew exactly what to do.
He asked Lincoln to lunch; the grandfather picking up his grandson on a Saturday afternoon, heading to one of their favorite diners in town.
They were quiet as they pulled into the parking lot, getting out of the car and stepping inside the establishment.
They managed to grab their favorite booth, the friendly waitress meeting the two regulars with a smile, pouring them each a cup of black coffee.
"Thank you, Sandra." Albert thanked and the waitress nodded "If you boy's need anything else, just give me a yell!" She gave them another smile before walking off to take care of her other tables.
They sat in silence for a moment, Lincoln looking deep into the dark liquid.
"I ever tell you 'bout my time in the service?" The wizened old man spoke, eyebrow raised as he looked at Lincoln, sipping his coffee.
Lincoln looked up to his grandfather, eyes wide as he shook his head.
"Not really something I feel the need to talk about." Albert continued, placing his mug on the table in front of him. "Decided that it would be better if I just kept quiet about it; not really something people need to know about me."
Lincoln took a sip of his beverage, staring intently at his grandfather.
"What happened?" He asked.
Albert chuckled, rubbing his hands together and shifting his gaze out the booth window.
"Somehow, without fail, I always managed to find myself in the middle of some pretty intense situations; some good, some bad." He returned, "But this one in particular is the most pertinent to what you're experiencing now, my boy."
Lincoln continued to stare at his grandfather, transfixed.
Albert took the opportunity to continue, a far-away look entered his eyes.
"We were a five days or so out of Da Nang, making our way along the Song Tra Bong river to check out this little village in the western hills. Area was too hot for helicopter landings so we had to hump it there." Albert paused, picking up his mug and taking a swig.
"We turned into this really narrow trail; so narrow we had to file our way through one by one. We drew straws who would take point, and my buddy Roy got the short end of the stick, no pun intended." Albert let out a laugh and Lincoln let out a small chuckle, hanging on every word his beloved grandfather spoke.
"A few miles later, we start getting shot at; nothing major. I believe it was a VC patrol we had wandered in to? I can't really remember, but as soon as we heard the first gunshot, I saw Roy go stiff and crumple to the ground."
A light frown formed on Albert's face.
"I was only a man away so I dived towards him, giving him a look over to see where he'd been hit." He paused again, eyes drifting further away into memory. "The left side of his face was blown off…. he was killed instantly."
Lincoln's mouth hung open, appalled that his grandfather had seen such a horrific sight.
"I couldn't believe it," Albert spoke, "One moment, my best friend was joking about some brawl he had gotten into back in Saigon, and the next he was just..gone." He continued lowly, eyes slowly refocusing, returning to Lincoln.
"I don't really know what happened next…. the rest of the guys in my platoon said I screamed, stood up, and charged those bastards…. All I remember was feeling this…rage, this… need to hurt the people who had killed my friend."
Lincoln sat completely still, eyes wide and completely stunned by the tale.
"You really did that?" he asked softly. Albert shifted his gaze back to Lincoln, giving him a small smile.
"Sure did; it was the most stupid damn thing I've ever done in my life." He laughed out, Lincoln cracking up as well.
"I don't know how I did it, but I managed to make my way up to these huge boulders, which these guys were using for cover." Albert continued with his tale. "I charge my way around these huge damn rocks and I come face to face with these…..kids."
Lincoln inhaled sharply.
"Couldn't have been more than fourteen, maybe fifteen years old." He says looking down into his mug. "And I see this…. look of fear on their faces as they turn around and see me raising my rifle at them…" Albert stopped speaking, closing his eyes and taking a few breathes before continuing.
"At that moment, I was beyond mercy, beyond understanding, I just felt….rage. And when I blew apart the two farthest from me, the one closest leaped on me, knocking me to the ground." He opened his eyes again, raising the mug to his lips.
"It was easy to over-power him; I was a farm boy raised on momma's home cooking in the good old US of A, and here was this lithe, small rice farmer trying to kill me in hand-to hand combat."
Lincoln's coffee sat untouched, cold, as his grandfather pressed on. A shiver went through his body as he watched his grandfather's eyes harden; cold, calculating, and lethal.
"I managed to get on top of him, and pulled out my knife, quickly thrusting it into his gut and twisting." He moved a hand to his chin, rubbing gently. "The sound he made Lincoln…..I still hear it sometimes. I didn't care though; I didn't care about his pain. In my mind, it was justified… they took Roy's life, I took theirs."
Albert stopped his hand movements, while Lincoln held his breath.
"Took two other guys from my platoon to drag me off…. apparently, I had kept stabbing long after he was dead. The SL said he looked like hamburger after I had finished." He let out a hollow laugh, "I barely remember it."
Lincoln stared at his grandfather, mouth agape, shocked at this revelation.
He tried to speak, but nothing came forth.
Albert looked at his grandson, only nodding.
"I know, I know, 'why is my crazy war vet grandpa telling me this story'." He said jokingly, earning a small smile from Lincoln.
"There's a lesson in all this, don't worry." He reassured his grandson, finishing the last remnants of coffee in his mug.
"You feel guilty about killing that deer, as you should. It's only natural to feel guilty about taking a life, any life for that matter. That was the first time I had taken the life of another living, breathing human being." He paused, allowing Lincoln to digest his words.
"The worst part, however, is that I didn't feel guilty about it; they made their choice, I made mine, and that was that. I moved on, got on with my life." He paused to scratch his cheek. "I've never lost any sleep over it. But I still remember them, each and every one of their faces."
He gazed deeply at Lincoln, who returned it equally as intensely
"So what I'm really trying to say is you can never forget a life you've taken, Lincoln, nor should you. That's the price you pay for taking it." He signaled the waitress to refill his mug. "And I hope and pray that you never get to the point where you feel nothing if you ever take another."
Lincoln slowly nodded, understanding what his grandfather was trying to convey.
"Was that the last time you took another life?" They young boy asked, concern marring his face.
Albert smiled somberly as the waitress made her way over to their booth.
"No my boy, it certainly wasn't."
. . . . .
April 4th, 2028, 16:45 PM
Lincoln took another drag of his cigarette as he pulled off the highway, smoke rolling out the window as he exhaled, radio blasting on full volume.
"A modern day warrior, mean, mean stride…."
He let his head relax against the back of his seat, shifting his arm to rest his elbow on the window sill.
"Today's Tom Sawyer, mean, mean pride."
Bobbing his head to the beat of the music, Lincoln could only smile as he pulled in to the small, decrepit parking lot.
God damn, there really was no drummer better than Neil Peart.
Pulling right up to the building, he put the car in park and rolled up the windows. Killing the engine, he opened the gull-wing door and stepped out into the late afternoon haze.
He'd been driving all day, wandering in whatever direction he felt, stopping only to refill the tank of the DeLorean. He needed to clear his head, and driving was one of the few things that provided that relief.
Especially after this morning.
No one heard the phone ring? In a house of six?
That was a little too spooky; the whole situation unnerved him immensely.
Still, nothing a little smoke and Rush couldn't fix.
Stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, he meandered over to the front of the shop, gently opening the door and slipping inside.
A small 'ding' signaled his entrance, causing the older gentleman behind the counter to look up in curiosity, grinning when he saw the shock of white hair and small smile of the fellow entering his shop.
"Well I'll be damned, if it isn't Lincoln Loud!" He spoke as he stood up from his stool, eagerly sticking out his hand in greeting. Lincoln broke out into a full grin as well, moving to the counter and strongly gripping the older man's hand. "Sam! How ya been?" he questioned.
They released their handshake and Sam let out a hearty laugh. "You know me; my old ass hasn't changed a bit! Look at you though! You look hard, boy!" Lincoln let out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Been a while hasn't it? Last I heard you were fighting the Ruskies in Hawaii! When did you get back?" Sam questioned, eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Lincoln sighed.
He'd put this off for far too long.
Back when he was still in high school, just before his father passed, Sam had given Lincoln a job as a stock boy in this very pawn shop. It wasn't the most glamorous trade, but he and the old man soon became fast friends, bonding over their shared enthusiasm of a certain comic series.
He also managed to slip Lincoln some extra cash once shit hit the fan, which had endeared the shop owner to him even more.
Sam had shown such incredible kindness to Lincoln and his family without asking for anything in return, something that carried a lot of weight with the Louds.
Lincoln felt ashamed for not coming to see him sooner.
He decided it was time to come clean to one of his best friends.
"Bout a month ago." Lincoln returned, smiling sheepishly. "Got reassigned to Alaska after Hawaii."
So much for honesty.
"Well shit!" The old man barked out, pivoting on his heels to head into the stock room. "This calls for a celebration! I think I have an old bottle of '73 Jack in the back, let me go see if I ca-"
"Actually, Sam, as wonderful as it is to see you, I'm not just here to shoot the shit. I'm here as a customer." He laughed nervously, watching as Sam turned back to face him, eyebrows raised in question. "Gotta get back home and feed the family before it gets late, ya know?" He spoke, offering a small smile to Sam.
"Ah of course, of course, I know you're a busy man." He replied with a wave of his hand, shuffling back to the counter. "Still, you and I are gonna have a drink at some point, and I won't take no for an answer!" The old man jested, pointing a finger at Lincoln.
"Never crossed my mind." Lincoln responded warmly.
"Alright then." Sam returned, satisfied. "Now, what can I get ya?"
Lincoln took a step up to the counter, eyeing the display case. The shop had just about anything a person could ever want; clothes, electronics, jewelry, you name it.
Lincoln, however, was in the market for a much more dangerous product.
There was an assortment of knives, some collapsible batons, even a few small caliber pistols. He gazed over them all, taking in the vast array of concealable weaponry.
After several minutes of searching though, he looked up at Sam, frowning.
"You got anything that…you know…packs a punch?" He questioned, eyebrows raised. Sam smirked, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Give me one second." he turned around and began making his way toward the back. "I've got just the thing."
A few minutes passed before he returned, a small, wooden box clasped in his hands. He gently placed the container on the glass countertop, unclasping the latch and opening the lid, allowing Lincoln to observe the contents inside.
A wide grin formed on his face, eyes fixated on the items.
"Yeah," he spoke eagerly, "those will do."
. . . . .
17:35 PM
After paying for his purchase, Lincoln bid Sam farewell, promising to stop by within the next week or so. Sam waved as he walked out of the shop, the front door opening with a small 'Ding'.
He fished his keys out of his pocket as he made his way to his car, box safely tucked underneath his left arm. Using his free hand to unlock it, he pulled it's handle and let the door raise up, plopping himself into the driver's seat before reaching up to close it.
He gently placed the container onto the passenger seat, smiling as he inserted the key into the ignition and started up the car.
Oh yes
Those would work perfectly.
Looking over his shoulder, he backed out of his parking space, then pulled the car back onto the main road, heading back towards the interstate.
He was feeling good…..but as he turned onto the ramp and accelerated onto the interstate, he began to feel it.
That gnawing….that hunger, slowly creeping up inside him.
Maybe he should head out earlier?
No…. He promised Lucy they would talk this evening…
But...Still….
No…
Fuck
He'd be lying if he said he didn't care about his little sister; Of course, he loved all of them equally, as a good brother should, but there was something special about Lucy…. Something he couldn't quite place even after all these years.
They grew closer as time wore on. Around the time Lincoln was a Sophomore, she'd begun to slip into his room late at night, just to talk; school, friends, life, really anything and everything they could think of.
He never really knew why it started, or how even; she was just there one evening, gently shaking him awake and asking if they could talk.
The occurrence of these late night discussions was spread out at first, maybe once, twice every two weeks. Eventually, they began to happen at least twice a week, then every other day.
Once shit hit the fan though, it was every single night; sometimes for a few hours, sometimes till the sun rose the next morning.
It helped them cope…. heal, even; to be able to confide in another the emotions you hid from the rest of the world was a major release for the both of them.
They supported each other, and even though they didn't allow it to affect their relationships with their other siblings, they both silently agreed that their bond with one another was the closest.
Especially after Luna disappeared.
But then he left, and virtually cut her out of his life entirely.
He tried to justify it; shit was fucked, and she didn't need to know the horrid details about what happened overseasfb.
And now he was going to tell her everything.
C'est la vie, he supposed.
It took about thirty minutes for Lincoln to arrive back at Royal Woods, slowing the car down as he pulled on to Franklin Avenue. As he drew closer to the house, however, he could see another car parked just next to Vanzilla.
Not just any car though,
Her car.
Lincoln's stomach dropped.
Oh fucking hell.
What was she doing here?
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he pulled into the drive, killing the engine and just sitting there.
This was the last thing on earth he wanted to deal with right now.
Hadn't she already made her choice?
Why the fuck was she deciding to come back now, after all this time?
Sighing, he stepped out of the car, shutting the door and quickly walking up the steps to the house. He reached the top, slowly moving to the door and reaching for the handle…
Wait.
He paused, hand barely gripping the door knob.
What was he doing?
He didn't need this.
He didn't need to see her, let alone exchange words.
She burned that bridged a long time ago.
They'd said everything that needed to be said.
But what if she tried to take one of the kids?
What if she tried to take Lana, or Lisa, or god forbid Lily, and he wasn't here to stop her?
He'd never forgive himself if that happened.
Steeling himself, he inhaled sharply, turning the knob and pushing the door open.
It was silent in the house, except for the quiet murmur of voices he heard emanating from the living room. He kept his shoes on as he softly made his way down the hall, slowly stepping around the corner and in to the living room.
On the couch was his mother, face in her hands, head shaking back and forth. He could tell she'd been crying; he'd become adept at discerning her body language over the years.
His gaze only lingered on her for a split second, as the individual gesturing animatedly next to her quickly drew his attention.
She was older, but she looked just as he remembered her.
It only took a second for her to stop her hand movements and shift her attention towards him, eyes widening slightly as she took in the sight of her towering younger brother.
Her mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but quickly closed. She brought a hand up and cleared her throat, before addressing the young man in the door way.
"Good evening, Lincoln." Her voice was clear, high, and as confident and full of itself as ever.
Lincoln offered her a slight nod in return.
"Evening, Lori." He replied
. . . . .
18:05 PM
Lucy practically sprinted home once the clock hit six, signally the end of her work day.
She loved the library, she honestly, truly did. it was her sanctuary, her respite in bleak and dreary world, and walking through its doors every day for the past two years had always brought her immense joy.
She found solace in written words.
Today was different, however.
She hadn't been able to focus the entire shift, her mind continuously wandering back to her conversation with her only brother earlier that morning. No matter how hard she tried to work, she inevitably ended up staring into space, lost in thought.
Finally, after keeping to himself for so, so long, Lincoln was going to tell her everything.
And only her.
That alone made her stomach flutter.
She was nervous, she had to admit; whatever Lincoln had been through, it was terrible enough to keep him from talking to the closest people in his life about it.
Terrible enough to keep him from talking to his closest sibling.
A part of her felt bad for thinking that her and Lincoln were closer than any other of their siblings. She knew it wasn't fair to the rest of them, as they'd all agreed that they loved each other equally…
And yet….
A part of her didn't really care.
A part of her was …. happy about the situation?
Go figure.
It only took her fifteen minutes before she saw the house is the distance, quickening her pace as her eagerness overtook her. She was about half a block away before she finally noticed the multiple vehicles parked in the driveway.
And one very specific turquoise Prius parked next to Vanzilla….
With a DeLorean just behind it.
Oh no.
Why on God's green earth did Lori choose to come back today of all days?
This would throw a wrench in everything.
She began to run towards the house, reaching the steps and quickly shuffling up before the front door swung open, a seething Lincoln storming past her.
"You can't run away from this, Lincoln!" A voice shouted from inside the house, Lori stepping on the front porch after Lincoln a moment later. "This is the best option!"
Lincoln stopped and turned around, a scowl crossing his face. "Yeah Lori, sending her away to rot in some facility and splitting up the girls is the perfect thing to do! Man, can't see anything wrong with that fucking plan!" Lucy frowned, absolutely puzzled at the exchange taking place between her oldest sister and only brother.
"Like it or not, it needs to happen! We can't keep denying it anymore! If you pulled your head out of your ass for one second you'd realize that!" Lori screamed back, Lincoln scoffing in response and opening the door to his car.
"Where the hell are you going? We aren't done talking about this!" Lori shouted at him as he slammed the door shut and fired up the engine. Lincoln rolled down the window and flipped her the finger, raising his arm high in the air for her to see.
"None of your fucking business!" He yelled in response, throwing the vehicle in reverse and roaring out of the driveway. He threw the gear shift in to drive and sped down Franklin Avenue, kicking up dust and detritus.
Lori pulled at her hair and screamed in frustration, the sound echoing out over the neighborhood. Lucy watched as her older sister visibly deflated and moved to the steps, sinking down and holding her head in her hands. Lucy cautiously moved over to her, taking a seat next to the exhausted looking women.
"Lori..." She spoke softly, the eldest Loud sibling looking up to meet her gaze.
"What the hell is going on?"
. . . . .
23:45 PM
The DeLorean pulled into an empty space just in front of the building, the muted atmosphere of late-night Detroit filled with the sound of its engine.
He couldn't wait till tomorrow, let alone the end of the week.
Pulling the rubber mask over his head, Rooster shut off the vehicle and stepped out into the cool night air, rolling his shoulders back as he made his way in to the apartment complex's front door's.
He walked down the hall and turned left, hitting a set of stairs and trotted up them. Once he reached the upper landing, he stopped just outside one of the several doors that lined the hallways and listened.
Yup, that was Russian he was hearing, no doubt about it.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair brass knuckles, deftly slipping them on and flexing his fingers before positioning himself in front of the weathered-looking door.
In one fluid motion, he delivered a swift kick to its center, the door itself slamming wide open. He rushed into the room, eyes shifting, scanning the well-furnished living space. He heard a light shuffle down the hall to his right, no doubt some poor soul coming to check what all the noise was.
He moved to the edge of the corner and waited, a guy in a white suit coming in to view not a second later.
Without hesitation, Rooster struck out hard and fast, his metal-protected fist smashing in to the side of the mobsters face. The guy fell without a sound, and Rooster moved on top of him, slamming his fists into his prone targets face twice more until he heard the sound of cracking bone.
Satisfied, he continued down the hall until he reached the kitchen, finding it empty. Opting to enter the closest door to his left, one of two doors in the room, he burst through it, catching a glimpse of another mobster lounging on the couch.
The man cursed as he rushed forward, swinging a golf club towards Rooster's head. Rooster managed to duck just in time, throwing a punch into his attacker's gut, knocking the breath out of him and sending him sprawling to the floor.
Before he could finish him off, Rooster heard a door open behind him, and felt a pair of arms encircle his waist. Throwing his head back, he managed to break free, quickly pulling a one eighty and tossing out a right hook.
Out of sheer luck, it caught the Russian square in the chin, causing an audible crack and sending him stumbling back into the wall. He began to slide down as Rooster threw out a heavy kick, connecting with the mobster's head and splattering viscera and grey matter all along the wall.
Roosters quickly turned his attention back to the prone man, who had begun to stir, raising himself onto his hands and knees. Rooster strode over to the abandoned golf club and picked it up, raising it high over himself before bringing it down hard against his victim's heads.
The mobster collapsed back to the floor, unmoving. Rooster smashed the piece of metal against his cranium, once more for good measure, before dropping it and making his way back in to the kitchen.
He made a split second decision and sprinted towards the other door, slamming in to it and bursting through to the other side. The door smashed In to a patrolling mobster coming to check out the noise, knocking him to the floor and causing him to drop his weapon.
Rooster kept the moment going, throwing himself on top of the prone man and smashing his fists into the dazed mobster. It didn't take long before blood began to splatter on to his knuckles, the body under him going limp.
He stopped his assault and stood up, eyes drawn to the weapon the poor bastard had dropped.
It was a shotgun.
A fucking Spaz-12 at that.
He quietly moved over and picked it up, pulling back the pump a tad to see if it was loaded.
A chambered round and a full magazine.
Rooster grinned underneath his mask.
Only one room left to clear.
He shoved the pump forward and leveled it at the closed door in front of him, pulling the trigger and sending two rounds through the oak wood.
Heard something hit the ground and kicked the door open, spying the torn-apart body of a mobster before him.
He heard a shout at the end of the room around the corner, and before he knew it another mobster was rushing towards him, bat raised ready to deliver a lethal blow.
He never stood a chance.
Rooster began pulling the trigger as fast as he could, rounds pumping into the body of his would-be attacker. One caught him in the gut, sending him stumbling back. Another smashed into his right arm, sending it flying to the other end of the room The third managed to hit him in the head, completely decapitating him and leaving a fine mist in its place.
The tattered body fell with a thud, a Rooster waited for another mobster to round the corner.
They never came.
He listened for a moment.
Two.
Dead silence.
Satisfied, he slowly back tracked out the way he came, over the corpses and bodily fluids of the victim he'd slain.
He closed the front door as he stepped back out into the hall, lightly jogging down the stairs and rounding the corner. He shoved through the front doors and ran to his car, jumping inside before shoving the keys into the ignition and revving up the car.
He pulled out of his parking space and onto the deserted road, heading towards the interstate.
Once he hit the exit, Rooster tore off his mask and tossed in onto the passenger seat.
Inhaling sharply, Lincoln lowered his window and took a deep breath of the fresh, clean night air.
. . . . .
12:45 PM
As he pulled off the exit to Royal Woods, Lincoln whipped out his cell phone and dialed a number, holding the device to his ear as he drove.
A few moments passed before a clear, familiar voice answered.
"Yo, Linc!" It spoke. "What's happening my dude?"
A small smile formed on Lincoln's lips.
Clyde could always put a smile on his face.
"A bunch of shit man. Lori came back today." His smile dropped, as frown replacing it.
"Really? Why dude? Didn't she cut you guys out of her life?" He questioned, confusion filling his voice.
"Yeah dude; two years she's gone, and then out of nowhere, she comes back with this plan of putting my mom in rehab and splitting up the four youngest amongst herself, Leni, and Luan." Lincoln continued, grip tightening in the wheel."
"Damn Linc, that's pretty heavy." Clyde replied. "How are you holding up?"
Lincoln sighed.
"I feel like everything is going to shit, Clyde." He continued. "I feel like I'm losing everything; my family, my life, myself." He paused. "I don't know what to do."
"Look man," Clyde began, "I know everything seems hopeless right now, but you've gotta keep your head high; your family still loves you, your friends still love you, and you'll always have me bro." Lincoln smiled, contemplating his best friend's wise words. "And whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere. You can always count on me." He finished, causing Lincoln to laugh.
"Clyde my man, I don't know what I'd do without you." He paused, eyes staring down the deserted street. "I can never thank you enough."
Clyde let out a hearty chuckle, a small crackle of static cutting through the connection as Lincoln pulled onto Franklin Avenue.
"Don't worry dude, it's on the house!"
. . . . .
A/N: As always tell me what you liked, what you didn't like and how I can improve!