July 24th, 2030 - Maine
Lincoln finished the killing business by setting the house on fire, forever burning all evidence of Horton's connection to Kapacity Korp. This was simply a house fire, nothing more. Not by public eye, that was to say, for the sneaky whisperers still in play would push the media, those small connections they could influence and control, to suggest it was an untimely accident. Be that as it may, he was still aiming to drive the corrupt official Peter McMahon to act out of desperate force in this long-running chess game. The Louds were still on the board, but separated in the meantime, while McMahon, now the only leading force on the opponent's end, had maintained control over followers of Lisa's primary goals.
With the superhuman formula circulating the internet, and the horrid revelation of what had to be achieved for it to be a true reality shift, the chess match had not stopped. The radicals were to grow interested in it, namely those who frowned upon the government, and the higher-ups, the world controllers, were damn adamantly eager to ensure that it was not to occur. Sure as hell had to be someone looking closely at McMahon, the man wasn't that smart to avoid that kind of attention.
Lincoln was only going over it with pure strategy and tactically. The leaks could very well create more enemies- or potential allies who were against the notion of human evolution by actual genocide. Then, there was the matter of the clones, namely the one known as Link-N, who turned out to be the key to creating this bloody reality, and that was what Lincoln could not hold off forever.
The clone came first; if Lincoln was to find Leven, he'd have to kill him right on the spot just to ensure no such person developed a silly idea, and in turn, all files of Project Superior would be invalidated. Good plan, one death to prevent the continuation of what Vial Corp had been doing, on a much larger scale this time. And then, the rest of the clones would also bite the dust.
Weapons, such weapons to be utilized by the Black Network, how god-awful and despicable of the late Lisa to have created them. It was barely a miracle that A and N had caused noise on their own turf, upsetting their comrades and freeing the captured Louds. No, it was a mere act, and the girl and the guy were out there, doing fuck knows what, and all that mattered was pulling the trigger after aligning the sights right to their foreheads- and Lincoln needed a bigger gun. Or better weapons. Anti-pheno weapons.
Lisa was dead, it should have been over right then and there, but it got too complicated, and out of Lincoln's hands as well, and he hated it. He hated the enormity of the mess, the many dangers that were only on a hypothetical level as of yet, and the greatest thing to truly despise was that he was officially alive to the world. The Freight killer Lincoln Loud, thought dead for four long years, came back and joined a group of phenos to fight the good fight. It was never lost on him that he had been praised only due to the fact that he died, and died a redeemed hero by the eyes of many. Now, he understood that not everyone would be pleased, and also the inevitable fact that he would vw wanted by basically everyone.
Patriot Division fuck-up would hold everyone connected responsible; that's real life for ya.
Here he was, a young man shaped by death, misery and the inconsolable emptiness that not even the killing or pain he inflicted on his foes could ever fix. If he kept believing otherwise, it would never be true, for there was a valid reason to murder; they did wrong, and he put them down. Freights. Lisa and her goons. Who else would, if any, tamper with the very nature, the sanctity of mankind, just for their own ideals? That was the type of person he truly despised, and would not hesitate to end.
He had shit to do, multiple objectives, one too many. Find the clones, kill the clones. Drive McMahon desperate to kill him, but not before finding his own puppets and killing them, too. Secondary objective that belonged under was to kill any free-thinking pheno, amd for that, he needed to hijack a special weapons shipment, which involved interrogating close workers who had that type of knowledge. One mission too many, and all of that while he avoided the authorities. Life wasn't this hard when he first joined the Division. Never had been.
What he needed was a Microchip to his Punisher.
As he made his way to the truck that belonged to his newly recent victim, a Toyota Tundra of a vray color, abandoning the soccer-mom purple minivan he came in, a faint sparkle reflected right on the truck's hood, which caught him off-guard. He thrusted himself against the front left side and fell on the pavement just as the thundering sound of bullets ripped through the air, bullets striking against the Tundra's front side and fenders. Lincoln hugged the side and rushed around to the back. He made a leap on the back and reached for the duffel bags, quickly taking out his prized sniper rifle.
The shooter had ceased their bursts of fire, the perfect time for Lincoln to get on his weapon and scope out the mystery shooter. Can't say he expected this out in the open like this. Oh, he did, but not in a neihhrnood such as this. Maybe that was his disadvantage.
Lincoln looked through the scope after setting the sniper rifle on the roof, moving it left to right to tag his guy. No one in sight, as if they vanished, nothing but parked cars and trees-
Oh, hiding, I see... Lincoln changed his point of interest, shifting from an armed assailant to the gunsmoke that had to be there. And then, a grenade fell from another direction, landing right on the back of the truck. He took his eyes off and spotted the green, round object rolling among the duffel bags, and acted insanely quick to pick it up and jump right out of the truck. He had no time to throw it, so he went for the harder choice and shoved it right into his chest and embraced it. "FUCK-!"
The grenade went off, knocking him flat on his back. His arms opened up to reveal his chest and stomach having been opened, exposing his flesh and the blood that dripped out of him. At least he managed to spare a true fireworks display from the ordinance he had, at the cost of him being down for the count momentarily.
Being weakened enough, to not move above the waist, the enemy who had just defeated him made their way over to him, and Lincoln grit his teeth hard and looked up from his spot, amidst the pain his body had just endured. "Who the f-f-?"
The figure was not one to conceal their face under a mask, but for one thing, they, just one person, sported some body armor and padding, loaded like an expert serviceman. Gun holsters on both sides of his legs, filled with two Colt 1911s, and in his hands was a high-grade G36C, top-notch of a beauty to gaze upon. Three grenades strapped to his waist had told Lincoln this was possibly McMahon sending his lapdogs to end the match. A closer look at his face also angered Lincoln further; this was not a man, but a mere brat who didn't look close to twenty. A kid with long, brown hair that looked like he had a bad hair day. "Bleed to death here, Loud," the armed teenager coldly stated, aiming the assault rifle down on him once before leaving.
All Lincoln could do was gargle with blood in his mouth while he healed slowly. The time in between now and then would not beat out the speed of the authorities, and they had been called the very second the house he had set the fire had begun to burn. He groaned and turned on his stomach, but was unable to drag himself like this. He felt the gravel and some pebbles strike against his flesh, which made him uncomfortable to the point of a desire to scratch his flesh away.
Not long after, he heard the rampaging echo of sirens from all directions, and the only objective in mind was to get the hell outta shit's creek. He thought of how stupid it had been; the goddamn mockery of one such teenager with a gun to have beaten him like that. It embarrassed him, it enraged him, and it put him on the sharpest edge he'd never experience. Good to know that the fucker hadn't emptied the rest of the magazine into him.
Three cop cars arrived before the firefighters, blocking both sides of the road to prevent a vehicular getaway. Next thing was the five officers drawing their guns about and circling the area. They saw nothing up until noticing the sniper rifle perched on the rooftop, dazed and confused about the details. They inspected the truck- and found their suspect, at least one of two, wounded severely, stomach flat.
"This is Officer Dallas responding to the call on Wabash and Van Buren, we need paramedics-"
Two officers approached Lincoln and made the slow connection of who he was. "Oh, shit, d-do you know who this is?"
The officer Dallas let his finger slide off the button of his radio, directing his attention to the downed suspect. "No, I- Wait, white hair-" He gasped.
"Guns high!" another officer instructed, "This ain't yer average crook here."
"Jesus... That terrorist Loud guy? This is a Homeland Security matter, man!"
"No shit."
"Get them over here," one officer implored. "I don't wanna-"
Lincoln had his cold blue eyes shit up until now. He lifted his head and grabbed the officer in front of him by his leg and cut him down to size. It was rather easy, but getting back up to find the other four cops raising their guns at him was a disadvantageous ordeal on its own- or it would have been if they used the correct firepower on him. He turned to them and started fighting the units, which wasn't much of a fair fight for them at all. He was some sort of titan, indestructible and unfazed by the bullets that struck against his body. He punched and kicked at them, holding back quite a bit to spare them from critical strikes. Once they had all slumped on the ground, he checked his chest, which had barely healed albeit being laced in his dry blood now. He grabbed a gun off one of the cops and took an L, last minute decision to switch vehicles.
He fled town in one of the patrol cars, gaining access to the police database. At least it was a start.
Act III: Further Into Darkness, Chapter II: The Living Dead
Later
By the time he stopped, it dawned on him; McMahon was already driven to act, no doubt. Since he survived, he'd be dealing with the same brat again- but only, Lincoln had an advantage now. Maybe the next time he came after another employee, one of those under-the-radar criminals, he'd have his dance with the kid. He needed to work up a trap, get a body double or something useful to get the drop on him. And it would not prove to be easy nor simple in task.
He pulled over to a fast food joint and parked at the far end of the lot. His shirt, the long black one he kept on after taking from the closet of Nicky Cardella, another employee, was all blown to high hell, save for the shoulder half of it dangling on him, but only barely. "Fucking millenials."
Of course, he forgot he was one in the moment.
The man exited the cop car, taking the keys but leaving the car unlocked with all guns still inside. Who'd steal a cop car, am I right? Lincoln walked across the lot into the joint, showing off his exposed chest and indestructible six pack for the ladies, and maybe gay men in the vicinity. It wasn't until entering where he had gained the attention of several on-lookers, folks from the line and hefty eaters seated at the table. It wasn't so much as uncomfortable as it was unnecessary of him to rack up that amount of attention- especially with him showing off skin and blood. He took to a table at the far right end of the joint and sat there, turning his back to them, promptly staring out the windows in front view.
The chatter kept going as it did, and footsteps impeded all around. He expected the interruption of some employee to get him to evacuate the premises for the safety he looked to be compromising, a paranoid-induced move urged on by those who spotted him. This, over the sudden connection to be made; the man who had just walked in was Lincoln Loud, the old Freight. Cops, FBI, and maybe SWAT teams were to converge on this position if anyone got too smart or frequented around the news. Even know, the call had already been made, and it was barely a miracle he made it here without being stopped by other patrol units further from the Horton residence.
Three minutes into silence, and complete silence from even inside his mind, someone had the courageous audacity to approach him. He sighed and let himself submit to the rule, and his only thought when the shadow at his side was, why did he even bother to come here when he should have been trying to run away? What was it, what halted him to take a sudden, out-of-character stray from the ascending madness?
"Can I help you?" He didn't turn to the figure, only lowering his head in a brooding sense. He expected a reply, but instead, the person jumped into the seat across from him, filling the empty void. It was at this point that Lincoln had his ears pick up the sound of pure silence, and when he picked his head up, what could he see but the motherfucker who had dealt him the near lethal blow?
"Hell yeah, you can," the fuzzy-haired teen nodded to, holding up a folder and laying it on the table. "They said you'd be hard to kill. I didn't believe that, but the news, and my friend- Why, the same words from everyone!"
Lincoln felt his veins fuel up with fire, humiliated, disgraced and enraged enough to begin anew a fight, and the boy was rather unarmed and harmless, it seemed, making for quite an easy kill to satisfy the displeased, uneasy ex-Freight. "You have some nerve to show up like this."
"Is that a fact?" The mysterious adversary tapped on the folder. "I'm not the one playing hero, trying to redeem myself by fighting with these lousy pheno fucks. Once a Freight, always a Freight, you piece of shit."
"Redeem-?" The albino with the forehead scar leaned forward enough that his chin was mere inches from hitting the table. He dug his hands around himself, letting slip that he had also forgotten he abandoned all weapons. He growled visibly and maintained his position forward. "As if I need something so irrelevant to cleanse my soul."
"I want to keep things interesting, Loud." The young man jerked his eyes to the folder. "Who I am is all in here, as well as what I know about you- or rather, this is how we're to see each other outside this place's walls."
Lincoln took off his gaze with dare in mind, lifting only one hand from under the table and opened it, finding only two pieces of interest on it; the first one was a wanted poster out for Lincoln, and underneath it, a torn-out newspaper clipping of a bombing at the Golden Gate Bridge of San Francisco, California. His eyelids split up further apart with the sudden connection he made then and there; this kid before him was telling him that he was a victim of that Freight-sponsored attack, of which was Lincoln's own doing. "This, I know this-"
"As you should..." The hostile boy arose from his seat. "Do you know what you've taken from me, Loud? Have you seen all those faces?"
Lincoln blinked to see the ghosts of the past; all the cars having stopped when the first explosion had gone off, but he didn't. He didn't stop then, insisting that he show off the magnitude of his everlasting hatred of all things that were, and all to come in all its bloody glory. They, the victims of Lincoln Loud, the Freight, either died or walked away wounded. He only thought about those two possibilities, the outcomes of his deadly actions, missing out the third one right underneath all of that; they who died had to have left someone behind.
In this case- "My fucking parents, Loud! You made me an orphan."
To have it all come back and bite him hard in the ass like that was so sudden, a heavy dilemma he should have been ready for since the announcement of his true status came to light. "The only regret I have today-"
On cue, police cars circled the fast food joint, sirens blaring out like a song being played from the skies. Everyone around them broke protocol and moved in all directions- but not the two enemies of yesterday and today. Lincoln let him know what was up, eager to have him reach over to simplify things. There was that chance the brat held a gun to him, and he didn't even know it. Peeking under would be cheating. "-Is not bothering to finish you off back then."
"YOU DARE SAY THAT SHIT?!" Turned out, he did have a handgun that occupied both arms, finally unveiling that card right at Lincoln's face. He fired once, but the bullet missed the mark. Lincoln countered it with a block of his elbow, and locked the teen's gun-toting hand down before bending him forward, having his head strike against the table. "RAUGGHH!"
"Little boys shouldn't be playing with guns, they have a tendency-" Lincoln forced the gun from his foe and shot right at his foot. "-To get hurt real bad."
"AUGHH! L-LINCOLN FUCKING LOUD!"
The stone-cold merciless albino took the injured boy by the collar of the leather sweater he arrived in, running him dragged through the ground just as the place had become surrounded with cops. He introduced himself with his leverage. "I'M WALKING OUT OF HERE ALIVE, OR I SHOOT THIS BOY! NO STRAGGLERS, EITHER!"
"LINCOLN LOUD, WE CAN'T LET YOU ESCAPE-"
Unamused, the Ungodly Stormbringer filled the air with the shots of the gun at hand. He warned them by sending out only three before turning it back to his "hostage."
"Hold your fire, men! Do not engage!"
Lincoln started walking back to the patrol car he rode in with, moving closer to the officers, in between two other cars acting as a blockade. They maintained their distance from him, backing up as he approached without so much as looking at them as he did so. The young boy still squirmed and bled away as he was forced away from the scene. "Quit your struggling, boy," Lincoln hissed.
"Y-you are so fucking dead-" He managed to slip fingers under his shirt and yank out a silver, round object, dropped it, and kicked it behind them. "I will be your reckoning."
Lincoln ceased and spun around, jumpy at the object. "What the fuck is tha"
"A very special grenade!" The boy jerked his head back, striking against Lincoln's. It dazed the man long enough for him to break free from his grasp and immediately hit the floor.
"Hold it-" Lincoln raised his gun, in turn causing the alarmed officers to initiate the firing- and then, the silver grenade went off in between the patrol cars he passed by. What it did was tug the police cars together to the location it had gone off, and from where it had, a bright silver-blue light emitted heavily on the ground. The gun in Lincoln's hands were being yanked by some unholy force at this point, shoving itself right into his chest and pushed him with no issue. And that's when he realized. A FUCKING MAGNET GRENADE?!
The police officers had trouble keeping their guns steady, only taken into the special magnet-light while Lincoln quickly abandoned his own and forced himself out of its way. This happened just before the car he came in on made a flip and flew over his head, crashing right down on the two other vehicles. "FUCK!"
"Heads up!" The young adversary had another card to play; he slid one of the tiny Matrix Portals right at Lincoln, which opened up and send him elsewhere, and the albino had barely the time to react to it.
Elsewhere
Lincoln found himself upon a cave dimly lit and narrow, like a point of excavation around here. He hot right on the dirt floor and got himself dusty, coughing as the dirt air settled around. He was even more greatly humiliated than before. "Goddamnit!"
"Welcome, Lincoln Loud, to a grand spectacle unlike any other!" The intercom boomed and rattled the cave system, the voice of the young juvenile sounding anxiously starving for his own game to commence. Here, the cave, actually a series of underground tunnels set as a maze, was the home-field advantage going against Lincoln's favor. "All around you are various pathways leading in random directions, back and forth on an endless loop. They say you're good enough, so let's put that to the test. There is an exit, somewhere along these tunnels. Oh, and one last thing; the system is entirely rigged with traps of all sorts, some of which you cannot anticipate. Good luck, and I'll meet you in the end... If you don't die first."
The intercom buzzed off, bringing about steadiness around the tunnel systems. Traps... Of course.
Rapidly moving while crouched, Lincoln advanced forward and tiptoed over a tripwire, careful not to activate its death trap. Of course, it was set so that he could see that. The true set up was a pressure plate over it, a landmine that blew up in his face and sent him spiraling backwards. Now his entire shirt was gone at this point.
Away from at this, at the only spectator seat of the ensuing gladiator pit, the boy eagerly watched Lincoln suffer around like big game on a reserve, feeling so pleased as he continued to watch through the grouping of monitors set up, having every angle broadcasting live. "That's right, you pay for all of your sins."
"Hey, Lembone, how are we looking?" Allison Taggart popped up into scene and stood next to him, eyes focusing on the screens. "Good fucking shit, you've actually got him trapped down here."
"Fucking right, I did, and it's all thanks to you." Lemuel broke away and gave Allison his attention, leaving forward to plant a light peck on her lips.
Allison shot her hands up and plied Lemuel back. "Save it for later."
"Fair enough, baby," Lemuel agreed. "What's the word?"
"After him, we've got a lot of work that needs to be done. And I've found team member number three."
"Oh? Another shooter?"
"No, our own hacker," Allison corrected. "You know we need that kind of person here. I don't know how to... Well, tech stuff."
"Heh, I hear that!"
"Oh, look! Loud's taken an axe to his chest!" Allison clapped childishly and giggled. "Man, oh man, where's the popcorn?"
"Goodie... At long last, I finally get what I'm due." Lemuel raised a fist right to the monitors. "Die, Lincoln Loud."
Lincoln had turned one right and two lefts into the maze, removing the axe tool that kissed his bare chest. At least he had a weapon, carrying on to find the exit, wherever it was. Up ahead, things got dark; the next few feet of tunnel had not been lit, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to tell him that a hidden, unknown danger lurked somewhere there. And yet, he went for it, rather than turning back and finding another way. "When I find you, you are through!" His threat echoed through the cave, ceasing after being repeated ten times over. He had an idea; using the axe, he knocked one of the hanging lamps off its place, occupying his free hand with it, and ventured into the dark.
"He won't see it coming!" Lemy vowed angrily. "He can't! Come on, Allie!"
No tripwires this time, or anything as far as he could see. It was either a perfectly concealed trap from any side or psychological warfare paced out to drive him paranoid, and it would have worked if he wasn't a pheno, upgraded to superhuman levels far above the regular default setting. Inferior no more. "BOY!"
There had indeed been a trap laid out, but for this particular one, Lemuel and Allison had modified it greatly last second, the ultimate grand finale that halted Lincoln's advance out of the system. Right on both sides of the tunnel he moved along, two hidden passages were dug out, stopping right at the middle of the darkness. Each end of those had a hole at hip level dug out, providing a peeping hole out into the tunnel- or for shooting away at the intended target.
Lemuel and Allison took cover, armed with double barrels, sticking out the barrels right through the holes. One kill, shared by the both of them, and thus ended the death sport.
Lincoln stopped moving, just mere inches before he closed in on the perfect kill spot, eyeing around the darkness. He felt something was off, but could not point it out in exact. He lowered the lamp and rolled it forward, seeing if it would activate or detonate some explosion. Nothing. But then, the light of the lamp cast off against the barrel on the left just enough for him to break it down. Oh, I see...
He hugged the left side of the wall and slowly moved towards the weapon, hands ready to punch through the hiding space and get his opponent. Inches away and no sweat had dripped from his head. He took a deep breath and stood absolutely still before- "I'VE GOT YOU, NOW!"
The shotgun in Lemuel's hands flew forward- but he fired off both shells, and hit Allison instead of Lincoln, buckshot fragments passing right through the other secret passage. Allison fired back before she succumbed to the shells that hit and burrowed into her stomach, slumping right onto her knees, bleeding away helplessly. Her own shots hit jack shit, but Lincoln had found that he didn't bother to check of a second player here- and it drove him more mad that they were getting the better of him. No more.
"AGH! ALLIE, ARE YOU OKAY?!"
"Hey, your priority is me, punk!" Lincoln burst right through the wall like a fierce titan, yanking the shotgun right out of Lemuel's hands before he dealt unto him the well-deserved beating of a lifetime. It started with his knew being driven right up into Lemuel's stomach, followed by the elbowing on the back of his head after the poor boy bent over to grovel in pain. It was that easy up close, but hard up until here, and at long last, the Ungodly Stormbringer had triumphed violently over... "Now you're gonna talk, and as for your friend-"
Allie booked it from there, teleporting away to retreat.
"W-wait, Allie!"
"Then it's just you..." Lincoln broke Lemuel's nose with a punch, taking him as they left the tunnel system, using the secret passage.
Minutes Later
Lincoln turned it all upside down right after he learned of the boy's identity; the fifteen-year-old Lemuel Elliot Porter from the state of Arizona, just one of many probable orphans Lincoln had made all those years ago, an idea he never wanted to ponder over.
The little setup Lemuel had here, Lincoln broke apart. All the monitors were broken by punch or ripped out of its place, the tiny armory of some few weapons and explosives, ready for Lincoln's usage, and the few Matrix Portals he had in his possession- it still proved to be sufficient evidence that the two people here were under the payroll of McMahon.
"You surely have a phone," Lincoln insisted, searching thoroughly for a phone or some sort of radio. "You can't hold out the name of your bosses on me forever."
He had tortured Lemy, applying the empty shotgun to his limps and bones, using it as a bat- and it hurt worse than you could imagine. It did for the boy, and, despite all of that pain, the broken kneecaps, the scraped limbs that bled, and his bloodcurdling cries of pure agony, he had a strong will that kept him from talking. That, or he waa telling the truth, not following the orders of anyone. "Is this how? Is this how?!"
"I'm waiting, bucko." He had his torture toy pinned to the wall, furthering the strikes here as the boy would not have any recoil. "Stop that nonsense and just tell me-"
Lemuel broke into a heart, but nervous laughing fit. "How about you tell me, y-you psychotic bastard- Tell me how it felt to know, to actually do it-"
Lincoln used the double barrel as a battering ram and heaved it right onto Lemuel's chest, sufficiently knocking the air out of him. "Where does McMahon sleep?"
"He sleeps..." Lemuel coughed blood at the pheno's feet. "On your dead mother's grave!"
Lincoln kicked his face, hurdling him flat to the ground. "If you so badly want to end your life, kid, so be it." He bent down to lift the boy up and lay him leaning against the wall, leaving him there to reload the shotgun at hand.
"Ehehehe, j-just like them," Lemuel wheezed with his lungs aching. "Patriots... You're not worthy, you will never be worthy to-"
Lincoln returned and stuck the barrel right in his face, finger set on the double trigger. "Last call for that mouth of yours."
"-You will never be a hero."
He blinked, startled by something. Poked by a memory of the dead age, a historic relic of his past.
Lori had taken the time, going out of her way, to beat him senseless. She did that, whereas the instant penalty for disobeying the Freights, by breaking the rules or risking exposure through sloppy means, was death, a gunshot to the head. Lincoln was he who messed up, losing control and acting out of nothing but that vile rage they so wanted to redirect for their own cause.
Chandler himself was no merciful deity, and as such, it fell on him to send the boy to either God or below, whichever place Lincoln fated himself for. Rebekka, Cristina, Dana and Fiona were there to witness the execution, but Lori, the sister of this defier, the one to be hung up, pushed away Chandler's gun and moved towards the younger brother to beat him.
He went through a great deal of being bloodied up, bruised all over, and with only one eye, his left eye not swelling up, he looked on to see big sister Lori facing the would-be executioner, taking and applying the gun right onto her forehead so that she pay the price of his sins against the Freights. She never broke away, never flinched, or so much as trembled with fear. If she had been terrified, he could not tell right off the bat. Chandler understood well that Lori was offering to forfeit for dear brother, and, being touched on a rare occasion, he redirected his gun and went soft, but had the guts to deliver dire punishment by shooting both of her feet. And that was that.
All of that, and yet, he never walked away body-abled. That beat down she gave- He could never tell if it was his own punishment from her or a quick-thinking act to save him, spare him from a horrible death. Either way, he found himself thinking it. Thinking why she tried to play the heroine here, when none of them were practically worthy of noble acts. Why did she do it? Who was she in that second, when she gave her life up for her dear brother?
Hero. Hero. Hero...
Lincoln closed his eyes. "I could never say that I planned to, I know that much perfectly well."
"And- And yet, you signed up with those bunch of supers, a handful of those mutates," Lemuel countered. "Wh- what did you aim to get out of that?"
Lincoln slid his finger off the trigger, but never moved the firearm from the boy's face. If anything, it was a good question, one that he knew he had the answer with him when he'd been with the Division. It was done to stop Lisa, her agendas, and in the current, go after the multiple loose ends, the messy fallout of all this chaos. All those people, all those victims, that was all that truly counted for him.
But maybe, just maybe, there had always been something else underneath all of that which drove him to play on a different team. Something else that had nothing to do with justice or punishment. He could never be a hero due to his past, and yet... And yet...
"I guess I just don't want to see anyone else fall."
Lemuel's breath shuddered like it was cold all of a sudden, taken aback by what he perceived as a joke, a terrible one told, highly insulting to him. "Anyone else fall?!" He briefly choked in blood before regurgitating it out. "Y-you've- You're a little too late for that, d-don't you think?"
Lincoln drew sympathy from his inner self, feeling the forgotten sensation of mercy possess him. This boy, this shattered soul, the aftermath of his own cruel deeds, had begun to feel like him; it was Lincoln, looking down at a version of himself, said version who had all the same traits on surface level. There was that overpowering anger, the hardened fight that never stopped for him, even at the sight of the end, that lust for dangerous revenge so justified by him who exacted it. "Yeah... Yeah, I just might be, but I'm gonna try, boy. You know why?"
"How's that?"
Finally, he lowered the boomstick, releasing Lemuel from harm. "Because I know what I've done."
"No-" Lemuel pressed a hand against the wall, forcing himself up. "No, you d-don't turn it- D-down from me!"
Lincoln turned his back to Lemuel, choosing to spare the living dead. "I no longer see you as my enemy, you're just another misguided tin man, same as me. Go, do good- Or find me again and we will settle this permanently. Your call."
"N-no, I won't-" Lemuel limped to him. "Kill me or I kill you! You, who left me with nothing to live for-"
Lincoln dropped the shotgun and then rammed right into Lemuel before going off on him. "THEN KILL YOURSELF! I DON'T GIVE A DAMN FOR YOUR OWN SOB STORY, BUT IF ALL YOU'RE GONNA DO IS CRY ABOUT IT AND CHASE AFTER ME-" Lincoln passed spit as he raged right on the boy's face. "I CAN DIRECT MY HATE TO THE UGLIER MONSTERS OF THIS SAD LITTLE WORLD! AND IF I CAN- IF I COULD TO THAT-"
Lemuel shed tears, but maintained his gaze at the man he'd been eager to kill.
"DO GOOD, STOP WASTING YOUR TIME ON ME! FOLLOW IN MY OWN FOOTSTEPS IF YOU'RE AO INCLINED TO SPILL BLOOD, OR DO NOT AND LET GO!" Lincoln huffed and puffed once concluding his fit, deciding he had said all the misguided child needed to hear. And Lemuel did need to hear; a young soul just as him on the path of ravenous vengeance, that Lincoln had known what would be of him. And he would be the one to kill the boy himself. That was the outcome most likely to be, without a doubt.
This was the equivalent of Lori's beating, to help the boy understand his ways and the errors of it. Lincoln passed it down without knowing it, and left it at that. What was left is wondering if those words were such words that he himself needed to hear. Maybe it was, maybe it had been. Either way...
Royal Woods, Michigan
He left Lemuel crying, a mirror of a human being broken from both within and the outside. Whether or not he had some resolve left to figure out his next step, whatever conviction to behold, Lincoln would not wait to see the result. Leaving one Matrix Portal for him, he exited the stage, with his destination set to Royal Woods. It'd be the last place anyone would find him, only he assessed that he needed a disguise- his white hair was the alarmijg feature to raise suspicion in everyone who saw him, a man going around with one red duffel bag.
He was bummed to have lost the advanced stuff, which included the ultimate sniper rifle among them, but to each their own.
He dropped right in the middle of a familiar road- and what could life do but present unto him a rather coincidental break? In the peak of daylight, sun shining brightly overhead, Lincoln jumped out to the other lane as a black van came screeching to a sudden halt, mere inches from hitting him. But it wasn't the van that had him settling his blue eyes on it; it had been the two troublesome clones on the front seat, and the Black Network ninja girl in between them, looking right at Lincoln with their horrific surprise. Linka clapped and smiled, applauding as if she had been meeting a celebrity in full-on fangirl mode.
"CLONES!" Lincoln wasted no time in opening the red duffel bag that was once Lemuel's, taking out the loaded shotgun. He fired at the front tires to prevent their escape.
"A shirtless Lincy enters the stage?! I can't make this shit up, baby!" Linka attempted to flirt in the most inconvenient of times.
"Back up, Leven!" Carly urged frightfully. "He's reloading-"
"I'll save us!" Linka unbuckled and dove out of the car, rushing Lincoln. She tackled him and threw her strong punches, striking his upper body. "HELLO, FATHER!"
Lincoln grabbed Linka's little head and performed a headbutt, and additionally drove his knees upward, a combined attack to damage her cranium. Linka let out a heavy cry, being thrown into the pavement mercilessly.
"AGH! SAVE HER, MAN!"
Leven jumped into the fight, body moving on its own. "You and me this time!"
"Sounds good to me, clone," Lincoln poked.
"THON OF A BITCH BWOKE MY NOTHE!" Linka wailed. She then laughed and brought upon the only trick she had up her sleeve. "MANEUVER ONE, MANEUVER ONE! MOVE!"
Leven quickly moved in front of the van- letting the automated Kapacity Korp vehicle thunder past and hit Lincoln at a rapid fifty-five miles per hour, sending him flying through the calm air. Carly jumped out of the van and went over to Linka, helping her up.
"Leven, weapons! Look, gunnies!"
Leven went for the duffel bag, leaving only behind the empty double barrel for the downed Lincoln, who laid in the grass in grand pain. "To the car! Quickly!"
They all entered the toner whip, settling for this over running. Linka navigated it from there and escaped with her crew right towards town- and the car engine had already been damaged enough unbeknownst to them, due to Lincoln's impacted force upon it. Soon, they'd break down with an overheated engine. Soon, they'd be halted at Rennis Orphanage, where Lacy, Lupa, and Link-B were hiding in. And soon, an insane war for the lives of all five clones would begin, while Lincoln would ultimately catch up to them.
AN: Choose your side, readers; Team Lincoln, the anti-clone team, or Team Luna, the pro-clone team. It won't be a balanced thing, I could tell you Lincoln is the only force on this side, but I could also say he gets favor from the other Louds. Regardless, it's gonna be bigger than the original one, and the ending- This thing which I have never thought to create. It's the perfect thing that breaks down one such Loud. I'm not hyping it, I just like how it works out in terms of development for those involved.
Getting back to the main chapter plot; Here's Lemy Loud, except, he's not Lemy Loud. He's just this teenager who lost his parents because of Lincoln, in the very same way Vince Ventura had back in the original fic. Can I say that Lemy is going to step up to that very same role? No, he's not gonna be the VV of this fic. And also, VV will not be a part of this. I renounce that character, and the creator has moved on from the fandom. Hell, I bet you might not even have known him. Man, that was years ago. However, I do have a character, the main villain of this story, if you will, who has not made his official appearance yet, but he has been mentioned only once, in this fic. As of now, this person is in the shadows, watching everyone make their move, and for Act IV, he will be the big bad for that. Quote me on that, he's coming real soon.
Oh, right. Silly me, I strayed from mister Lemuel. His name, that's one of my headcanons here, and I'm feeling pretty good that I brought him in and gave him a sad background, just as ugly as Lincoln. I want to parallel them together, side by side, as much as I could here. Two halves of the same coin, but the difference in Lemy is that he is still young at heart, having the ability to change course the devil had set him on. Whether he will or not... Does *not* depend on him. I mean, he's working with this version of Allie Loud, whom you know is working with the enemy. He's part of their agenda, but neither he nor Lincoln has uncovered it. So, yes, more Lemy and Allie working together in their own little corner down the line.
Next, the chapter with the name that should be familiar to you. Finally taking a look into the life of Loanne not-Loud, featuring Chester. You know what that means. Or do you?