Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Loud House' or any other property in this work that I did not make myself.

Broken Mirror

Chapter four: Logical Extreme

Lincoln, the boy without a family, was sitting in a booth at the Burpin' Burger in the city that he had run away to after he left his old life in Royal Woods behind. It was a little past six in the evening, so Lincoln figured that getting dinner wasn't unreasonable. Even so, Lincoln didn't touch the burger, fries or fountain drink that he paid for; just a few hours ago, the boy without a family killed three other boys. Lincoln didn't think about how those three boys were all punks who belonged to the local youth gang, or how they were in the process of beating up a dorky boy that one of them had dragged to their hideout at a nearby abandoned storehouse. Lincoln didn't even think about the fact that he saved the dorky boy from a beating that could have potentially turned fatal.

All that Lincoln was thinking about was the fact that he had just killed three boys, none of which could have been any older than twelve years of age. If his ex-family didn't want him on the basis that they thought that he was bad luck, then they certainly weren't going to want him now that he had become a killer.

As he continued to stare at his meal without touching it, Lincoln was brought out of his thoughts when one of the other customers that was in the Burpin' Burger at the time said, "Hey, cashier dude! Can you do something about raising the volume on the TV? They're playing a news report about that violent youth gang!" Looking over, Lincoln saw that the TV that was mounted on the wall was, in fact, playing a breaking news report of some kind. The boy without a family was able to hear what the news was talking about when the volume was raised.

"…Earlier today when crates at an abandoned storehouse fell on top of them," the news anchor said, "According to the first response team, one boy was knocked over and hit his head on the floor hard enough for it to be fatal, and the other two were killed when one of the crates opened as it fell, with its contents falling over onto them." Lincoln was horrified, not to mentioned scared; if the police somehow were able to trace the deaths of those three boys back to him, then he'd be in serious trouble. "We now go to the local hospital, where the boy that was dragged into the warehouse by one of the youth gang members is being treated for various injuries," the news anchor said. The news then shifted to an on-site interview with the dorky boy from the abandoned storehouse.

"They…they were going to beat me up really badly," the dorky boy said, the bruises on his face dark but not swollen, "After one of them punched me in the stomach a few times, those crates fell over. When the boy who was punching me in the stomach was hit by one of the crates, the boys who were holding me let me go, and I quickly fell to the ground and curled up defensively. After all of the noises from the crates falling over and spilling stuff ended, I got back up, and that's…that's when I saw that the boys who were beating me up were all dead. I ran out of that place as soon as I could, threw up right when I exited the place, then went to call the police."

The news shifted back to the news anchor, who said, "After word of those boys who belonged to the violent youth gang being killed got out, reactions from locals were surprisingly mixed." The news then shifted to an interview that, to the surprise of the boy without a family, was with the teenaged girl who looked like the awkward phase-version of his ex-sister Lori.

"I know what those kids were doing, and what they had done, was very horrible," the girl said in a sad tone, "But they were still just kids. It's sad whenever a kid dies, regardless of who the kid is or what the kid had done." The news then shifted to another interview, with one with an African American woman who Lincoln estimated was in the same age group as his ex-mother.

"More was done about that gang today than in the past few months ever since the gang started trying to make this city their whipping boy," the African American woman remarked in a tone of righteous anger as she crossed her arms over her chest, "About damn time that anything was done!" The news shifted to another interview, this one with that older Caucasian man Henry.

"Those little punks clearly have no problem will killing innocent kids, so why should anyone complain when a few of the punks themselves bite it?" Henry said, his tone matching that of the African American woman that was before him. With a scoff, Henry added, "It seems that the gravy train that those little punks have been enjoying at the expense of everyone else has dried up, and that they've now hit some bad luck!" What Henry said in the interview caught Lincoln's attention; bad luck.

Being decried as bad luck was the reason why Lincoln ran away, why he no longer has a family. And once again, actions of his were being declared as bad luck. Just the thought of once again being made into a pariah thought to carry bad luck wherever he went made the boy without a family scowl. But Lincoln's scowl melted away into a concerned expression when he realized something due to what he heard on the news; there were some people in this city who were actually happy that three kids, none of which couldn't have reached thirteen years of age at the time, were all killed. Was the city's problem with the local youth gang really so bad that when some of said gang's members are killed, people in the city celebrate? Just as the boy without a family processed this thought, the news shifted back to the news anchor.

"Due to the circumstances of how what occurred happened, along with the investigation team failing to find any evidence that would suggest otherwise, the death of the three boys has been ruled by local law enforcement as an accident," the news anchor said, "And now onto sports. Roger?" When the news shifted to the sports castor, Lincoln turned his attention back to what he got for dinner. The investigation team have no idea that he was the one who killed those three boys? How is that possible? Didn't they find any prints or…wait a minute, Lincoln was wearing gloves when he shoved those crates over. And the investigation team must not have bothered checking the machine that he hid behind at one point, although the boy without a family doubted that in the brief moment he touched it barehanded, he did so hard enough to leave solid prints.

"…So that's it, then," Lincoln thought somberly as he finally took a bite out of his burger, "I just got away with murder." The thought of killing anyone sickened the boy without a family, especially since he actually got away with it. Lincoln did not feel well with what he had done, and was even considering turning himself in. However, as he was going over what to do from here, he heard two men talking in a booth a few booths away.

"Wow, can you believe it, Mitch?" the first man said to his companion, "Something has finally happened to some of those violent little fuckers that have been trying to make life for everyone else in this city a living hell!"

"Yeah, but did it have to be the deaths of three kids, Brian?" the second man, apparently named Mitch, replied to his companion Brian in a mildly concerned tone, "I mean, they were just kids, for crying out loud."

"Mitch, how the hell can you have any sympathy for those little shits?" Brian remarked, "Little shits who have killed other kids themselves, and one of the gang's victims was your son."

With a somber look, Mitch said, "Yeah, my son's death still has me staying up at night."

Jerking a thumb at the direction of the TV mounted on the wall, Brian said, "It's just like the old man from the interview said. Those bastard punks have run into some bad luck." Grabbing his cup, Brian held it up in a toast as he said, "Thank goodness for that!" As the two men continued their conversation, Lincoln couldn't believe what he was hearing; once again his actions were being declared as bad luck…but they were actually appreciated? Does that mean he might be able to actually stay in the city, rather than be forced to find someplace else to live?

…But there was still the issue of that local violent youth gang that everyone else in the city was worried about. The boy without a family was still rattled by his experience from earlier in the day, but he was surprised to find that he was…slowly learning to deal with it? "Am I really starting to feel okay with the fact that I'vethat I've killed three kids, regardless of what said kids had done?" Lincoln thought worriedly, fearing that he was going down a dark path, such as what would happen if Ace Savvy, Lincoln's favorite comic book character, was taken to his logical extreme. The boy without a family would not want to do anything that would besmirch the name of the world's savviest crimefighter.

"…But still," Lincoln thought as he sipped his fountain drink, "If taking things to their logical extreme is the only way that the problem the city is facing would be ended, then what harm is there? I mean, those kids are clearly willing to kill others. It's been confirmed that they've done so before. So, if they can dish it, then they should be able to take it as well." Lincoln stopped short as he became absolutely disgusted with himself for what he was thinking about doing. After all, what would his family think if…

…Actually, you know what? Scratch that last part.


It was late evening, just hitting night time. An older Asian woman, in her late seventies at the least and her early eighties at most, was walking along the sidewalk as she was making her way through a neighborhood. The settling darkness of the night had the older woman just a little bit on edge; it had her worried that something bad would happen. She feared running into some of the little hooligans belonging to that violent youth gang, and her (fairly big) purse was the perfect target for one of those punks to try and snatch. She was also worried about crossing paths with that rather violent fellow from the news who has taken to dealing with the gang ever since three of the gang members were killed in that accident close to two mon-

"Thanks, granny!" a snarky-voiced boy, a Caucasian kid that was clearly a member of the violent youth gang in the city, sneered sarcastically as he ran past the older Asian woman while trying to grab ahold of her purse, interrupting her thoughts in the process. Luckily for the older Asian woman, she didn't lose the grip on her purse just yet.

"Let go, young m-" the older Asian woman began to holler, but the punk, angered that he didn't snatch the purse right away, slugged the older Asian woman across the face, cutting her off mid-scream and making her lose her grip on her purse's handle. For good measure, the punk slammed his foot into the older Asian woman's stomach, sending her tumbling over.

"When I'm trying to fucking rob you, you're not supposed to fucking resist, old bitch!" the punk snapped as he stomped down on the older Asian woman's left hand as it laid on the ground, making the woman holler in pain right as the punk turned around and ran off.

The punk made a turn into an alleyway, hoping to avoid any prying eyes that would see where he was going. After the set backs he and his fellows have suffered over the approximate two months since that incident in the abandoned storehouse, the absolute last thing that the punk needed was to get caught. Counting his friends who were killed in the aforementioned incident, a total of seventeen members of his gang have been killed by some violent wannabe vigilante who even left calling cards. It's like one of those capes and cowls from the comic books if they were taken to their log-

The punk was cut off mid-thought when a fist slugged him across the face, making him stumble back a bit and drop the purse. When he regained his bearings, the punk looked up and saw who had punched him. Expecting someone much older, the punk was surprised to find someone approximately his height, give or take an inch or so. The kid wore a baggy jacket with a somewhat large hood that kept the kid's head perfectly covered in shadow. The kid also wore a black bandana over the lower half of their face; that, plus how baggy the jacket was, made it impossible to determine the kid's gender. The kid also wore a somewhat baggy pair of jeans, sneakers, and a pair of light brown leather gloves.

"Who the hell are you?!" the punk snapped as he raised his fists. Spitting to the side, the punk faced the hooded kid again as he said, "You wanna fucking go, you little turd?!" The hooded kid, their eyes betraying nothing, calmly reached behind him with his right hand, pulled something out from his right back pocket, and brought it forward. The punk's eyes widened in shock and mild fear as he saw what the hooded kid pulled out; a butterfly knife. "…The fuck is that?" the punk said as he pointed to the weapon. Without an answer, without even saying anything, the hooded kid just ran forward towards the punk, alarming him.

"Hey, wait a minute!" the punk began to bargain, "We can work something-"

*SHUK*

Two men in their very early twenties were searching around the alleyway that an older Asian woman said she was some punk kid run into after he snatched her purse and assaulted her. Hoping that the kid in question reached a dead end and was unable to get out without being spotted, the two young men went into the alleyway in hopes of at the very least getting the woman's purse back for her.

"Hey Jack," the first man began.

"What is it, Paul?" the second man, named Jack, replied to his companion Paul.

"You've been hearing on the news as of late about that guy who's going around and wiping out the gang, right?" Paul continued.

"Yeah, and that's something that's been bothering me," Jack said, "Some guy has taken the law into his own hands and is going around killing off members of the gang that have been plaguing the city, and need I point out that the gang members are all just a bunch of punk kids?"

"Well the police certainly weren't doing anything about the gang," Paul pointed out, "I mean, what would you rather have, Jack? Everything left exclusively to police officers that weren't going to do anything, or let someone do the job that the police clearly aren't going to do?"

"Does this vigilante fellow seriously have to kill those kids?" Jack retorted.

"Did those kids seriously have to kill other kids?" Paul retorted back.

"It's not as black and white as-" Jack began, but he was cut off when Paul made a gaging sound.

"The fuck is that smell, dude?!" Paul exclaimed as he pinched the bridge of his nose when he and Jack turned a corner in the alleyway, "It smells like-" Paul stopped short when he and Jack came across something that made them freeze in place.

It was the punk from the violent youth gang, the one who snatched the older Asian woman's purse. He laid face-down, still and unmoving, on the ground, a certain kind of crimson staining parts of his form. Sitting on the back of the still and unmoving punk were two objects; the older Asian woman's purse, and an index card that had something drawn on it. Upon noticing that index card, the two young men knew full well what had happened here, being well-versed in the recent goings-on in the city. Turning to face Paul, Jack gave his companion's right shoulder a gentle push with his left hand.

"Dude, you have your phone with you, right?" Jack asked, getting his friend's attention. Nodding once in understanding, Jack continued, "Good. Call the police, then." Focusing his gaze on the index card, Jack was barely able to make out what was drawn on it; it resembled a card from a deck of fifty-two playing cards, with a capital letter 'B' in the upper left corner, a capital letter 'M' in the bottom right corner, and a drawing of a hand mirror in the center, with cracks all over the mirror's surface.

The calling card of Broken Mirror.

END, BROKEN MIRROR CHAPTER FOUR

Author's notes:

…And that's why this story has the title that it has. Anywho, I tried making a show of how emotionally conflicted Lincoln was with what he did, because no one can go through an experience like that and come out without at least some amount of some kind of emotional baggage; if someone did emerge from such a situation without issue, then I would be very worried about that person. Anywho, the next chapter will see a certain someone that Lincoln wasn't counting on seeing in the city that he ran away to (although some of you may have already correctly guessed that the person in question was going to be showing up eventually); the next chapter will also see the reason for the severe lack of police intervention when it comes to the gang.

At least the next Loud House story that I have in mind won't have to worry about actual deaths.