Collab piece for this chapter, featuring guest writer X-Ray999.

So, we're driving down the road. It's just me, Cannibal Girl and Bail. Hw gets a quick call that lasts a rough fifteen seconds or so, and I think nothing of it. Thought it was a friend from the precinct, figured it was work-related. I let it fly, I wasn't interested in whatever it was- Big mistake, the caller had him make a rest stop to Sunnyside Park six blocks before the precinct. He pulled over and told us to stay in the car-

And then, a blonde matching Dawson's description, a cop woman in body armor drops out of fucking nowhere.

Jessica Dawson drew her gun and didn't hesitate to strike down Bail with three firm shots to the chest, and not even a word or a break of her facial expression came about. The woman was just that cold. Heather helped and panicked, pointing all over at Dawson. "THAT'S HER, THAT'S THE WOMAN!"

Lincoln jumped from the passenger seat, gripping the shotgun pointed upwards, going in hot and ready. My first instinct was to take her down, but my mind raced to the other direction. Just how did she know we would...-? Idiocy galore, the fucking house was bugged by them!

Bail bled out and choked away in his own blood, rasping and tilling around on the sidewalk in horror before Dawson pulled the trigger again, gun aimed at his head. That's how he died, confused and scared, some goddamn caged animal that knew not of what was going on. Poor bastard had his brain scattered around the sidewalk.

Heather forced herself out the same way she did when she first fled with Lincoln, breaking the window and opening the car door from the outside. "Hey, be careful, Jerry!"

Cannibal Girl finally called me by my alias, it was surreal. Too bad I didn't ask about hers yet.

Dawson shot at Lincoln, then took cover behind a van to avoid the shells Lincoln let out. "He would want you alive, but I have no need for menaces like you in this community! No psychopaths who go around wiping skinheads as if they're above the law!"

It caught up to him. Lincoln ducked, moving alongside the parked cars to push to Dawson. Heather, on the other hand, pulled a daredevil move and jumped into a car, sprinting and jumping forward. She activated the car alarms this way, passing past Lincoln. Dawson heard someone run from above, and under the assumption it was Lincoln, she pointed her gun upwards, expecting him to show himself and try to jump down. "Come on, you son of a bitch!"

"Peekaboo!" Heather jumped down, greeted Dawson only to be greeted back with bullets, striking her shoulder and chest. She went down just as fast as Dawson gawked in awe at her. "Ow!"

"H-Heather, you slut-" Dawson was sidetracked long enough for Lincoln to turn the corner and fire a slug into her left foot, taking her down without more gunfire. "AUGH!"

Lincoln slapped the gun out of Dawson's arm and threw her against the van, head striking hard against it. "You're done, you're finding dkne."

Heather bounced back up, but seemed to be in a brothel of pain. Her body was twitching away, lips quivering but nothing coming out of them, movements slowed almost completely. "Nzzzzzhhhh..."

So, Cannibal Girl's first name was Heather... "Hey... Shit, get back down, Heather. Jesus..."

"What the fuck?!" Dawson flipped on her stomach and thought to limp or drag herself away. "You got some sheer dumb fucking luck!"

"You stay," Lincoln forced, stepping on Dawson's mangled foot. "Dumb broad."

"HE'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD! WE ALL WILL!" Dawson hurled out of her system. "SO GO ON, KILL ME! MAKE MY AFTERLIFE, YOU'RE ALREADY DEAD, SCUM!"

Heather fell on one knee, both hands slapped over the two wounds. This was not in Dawson, but on Lincoln himself, as he had put her into this shit show as it unfolded terribly. "Guhhhhrrrrr... Th-this hurts-"

"Idiot!" Lincoln berated, "lie down, you're hurt!"

"I've suffered worse..." Heather went ahead to dig her nails into the hole, flinching and seething away. "Ow- Ow, owwwww!"

Dawson held in her breath until she took in air- And broke into heinous laughter before the pair. "You didn't get too lucky, you know?"

We've been played here, since before Bail stopped to see her. More cop cars arrived to the party, only meaning that she called it in before we even arrived. And here I was, a complete fool, shotgun aimed at her in front of countless witnesses. I know what this was, but to them, to the whole world, I was some criminal- Even when they'd seen Bail get shot. Yeah, Dawson could find her out, call Bail a dirty cop, to throw him under the bus and desecrate his good name. At least he was with us for a solid ten minutes at most...

Fuck me, right?

"Just what I needed-"

Heather's petite nose caught whiff of a certain smell- Dawson's blood and Bail's flesh- and she grew rather ravenous with hunger, stomach bursting into a growl as loud as a lion's kingly roar. She let her instincts take over, pushing Lincoln away from Dawson to sink her visible fangs into the ravaged leg. It was there that Lincoln had noticed the minor's deadly jaws, mouth going silly-agape. Heather took a bite out of Dawson before Lincoln moved forward again and tugged her away by her black dress. "What gives?!"

"We need to leave!"

Heather went for another bite, but Lincoln denied her the second one. "Come on-" And she was picked up into his arms, gasping and blushing as if it were a magical, romantic sequence taken right out of a Disney movie. She lost her voice, freezing away as he ran with her, running fast to Bail's patrol car. "Hu-hu-huhhhhhhhhhh..."

"DON'T THINK YOU CAN MAKE FRIENDS OUT OF US!" Dawson voiced greatly. "YOU'RE A DEAD MAN WALKING! YOU AND THAT FREAK GIRL!"

Lincoln tossed the wee girl into the passenger seat before he got in. Thank the heavens Bail left the keys in the ignition... Lincoln put the pedal to the metal, revving away from the scene with Dawson cursing them as they left. The two patrol cars that came through the street chased Lincoln at full throttle, and Dawson laughed maniacally.

"Huuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh..." Heather was out of it, head tilted to the side, mouth agape, forming a bare smile. "Buhhh... Buhhh."

"GET YOUR SEATBELT ON, GIRL!"

American Albino, Chapter VIII: Town Siege

"Siiiiieeeeet-beyult?" Heather repeated in a murmur.

Lincoln broke into a right, driving away from the precinct now. The plan was fucked, and nothing had been gotten from Dawson before this, but he suspected that Matthews would find out of his arrival. What was the next play here? "Hey- Hey! Snap the fuck out of it!" He literally snapped his fingers up to her face. "Heather!"

"Yikes! I'm awake!"

"Can you take the wheel?!"

"What-?" Heather shivered. "I have no driving skills!"

"You do now!" Lincoln let go of the wheel, grabbing the shotgun with one hand, propping open the door with the other. "Hold her still!"

Heather forced herself into the driver's seat and took the wheel, allowing Lincoln to lean out of the car, aiming at the speeding cop car behind them. "Which pedal was it?!"

"The one on the right! Don't press it all the way-" Heather floored it, rocking Lincoln after a sudden jerk. "HEATHER!"

"I TOLD YOU, I DON'T NORMALLY DRIVE!"

"BULLSHIT!" Lincoln focused the shotgun at the incoming patrol car. "KEEP IT STEADY!"

"DOING MY BEST!" Heather kept her hands as still as possible behind the wheel, but her foot on the gas seemed to be harder to apply pressure for. She went fast, and took her foot off for a few seconds before repeating the cycle. "SORRY, SORRY!"

Lincoln fired away at the front wheels, popping the right one of the approaching patrol car. "YEAH, GOOD SHIT!"

The cop car behind them skidded and crashed into a parked vehicle on the right side of the street, but the other one circled around, still giving chase. Lincoln pushed himself back inside and reloaded before coming back out, hanging by the edge of the car doorway. He fired upon them, and missed- And lost the weapon when the pursuing car rammed into them. "FUCK!"

"WHAT FUCK?!"

"YOU'RE NOT ACCELERATING!"

"GIVE ME A BREAK-" Lincoln came back inside and pushed Heather back to the passenger seat by force. "FINE!"

Lincoln manned the vehicle again. "GLOVE COMPARTMENT!"

Heather opened it up. Nothing. "ONLY GUN IS THE SNIPER IN THE BACKSEAT-"

The bullets rang out, cops in the patrol car behind them letting their lead fly. Lincoln and Heather automatically forced their heads down to avoid the strays. Lincoln looked around the buttons and quickly pressed the button to open the trunk. It gave the a bonus layer of cover in the meantime. Heather looked into the mirror and laughed. "Hey, that's smart!"

Lincoln brought himself into the calm. Damn it, how do- How do I...? And then he glared at Heather with a new look in his blue eyes. "Tell me now, Heather, do you completely trust me?"

"Wha- Well... No, not a hundred percent yet!"

"Good!" Lincoln applied the brakes, turning right into a random, empty driveway of some house on the left. He was quick to get out and tug Heather by her dress with him, to which she reacted by screaming helplessly. "Follow my lead!"

"WHAT ARE YOU-?" She was placed in a chokehold, one of his arms wrapped around her neck, hand connecting to the other arm at halfway, and that arm was folded from upwards to tighten Heather's air passage. "Hgggghh...!"

"Play hostage," he whispered in ear shot, using her as a human shield as he made his way to the side of the house. The cops in the pursing patrol unit did as Lincoln expected, getting out and drawing their guns at him, ordering him to let go of the girl- They had not known Heather's role and significance yet- But Lincoln didn't, moving and backing himself into the wooden gate that led to the backyard. "STAY BACK OR I'LL SNAP HER NECK!"

He kicked the back open, breaking it away as he and Heather disappeared from their sight, but the pair of cops weren't done yet. He let go of Heather, and then pointed to the passageway. "Oh!" Heather knew what to do. Even with her wounds, and one bullet still in her body, Heather rushed forward and tackled the first cop- And displayed literal superhuman strength by sending him flying with one forceful shove, knocking him into the other officer behind. "NYAHHH!"

...You mean to fell me you've been holding out on me, Cannibal Girl?!

Heather stretched her arms as if it were nothing, letting out a calm sight. "Yeah, I don't usually want to exert-"

She got me feeling a little peeved, so I turned her around and I slapped her cheek, but not with all the force I had. It was more like a gentle punishment. Least I knew she had this much power now, but in terms of emotional strength-

"I'm- I'm sorry, I'm not too fond of going all out-"

"Girl, we've been chased by cops," Lincoln berated harshly, going over to pick up the fallen guns before returning back to the cop car. In the windows of the houses nearby, including this one here, he saw the civilian onlookers give him the stink eye, many of which were comapoed of a silent feat he picked up on. Didn't look good for him, nor the girl. "This is no time to hold back-"

Heather sat herself back on the passenger seat, radiating gloom. In her mind, she didn't want to tell him everything there was to know about her. The immortality, the booster healing- Which had now begun to close her shoulder wound while he had yet to notice- Her affiliation with the supernatural, and her state of being as some inhuman creature like a vampire. He labeled her a cannibal, it was close enough for her. All of this, all of that, some superior being who could not die so easily, and he would never believe such a story. No, it wasn't a story. It happened, and it was a curse. "No need to...?"

"Whatever else you're able to do, tell me now, and I would believe it-" Lincoln pulled out of the driveway and ventured on. "I've seen impossible things, they do make my head spin but I'll have to take it in by force."

"Well..." Heather gulped, her pinkies jamming together like a guilty child who stole from the cookie jar would do. "I can fly."

...?! F-fly? FLY?!

"That silence tells me you're either shocked or skeptical," Heather mentally noted. "I can show you if I have to, but I'm not lying nor exaggerating... I just...- I have never shown the other guys, but I'm telling you now because you're not trying to cause me harm or use me as a sex toy."

Lincoln found his voice again after breathing in that new Heather fact. "And I won't subject you to cruelty like that, Heather. I think you know that, otherwise-"

"Yeah, you would have tried it long ago, but you see it in me, right? You see that I'm not a complete monster, I made a better choice because of you..." Heather made a U-turn however. "You say I know that, but I can still feel it. I can practically get the feeling that you see me, even as small and partially as it is, that I'm some cursed thing. I'm some demon in your eyes, I can't be helped in eating the flesh of man."

"But you're still in the shape of a human."

"Does that mean I'm... Alive?" Heather eyed the exterior mirror on her side, staring at herself with displeasure some few lengthy seconds. It was her face, even with that nasty bruise on her face, still red and purple all the same, but it was her face nonetheless. The feeble reminder that she was still who she was, what she was. Heather Eleanor White, the flesh-craving entity stuck in the physical body of a sixteen-year-old dolly. She told him most of everything about her up to here, that was more than she'd tell anyone else before him- if memory was ever so accurate. "Here-"

She forced one hand off the wheel and applied it to her chest. At first, I thought she wanted me to grab one of her breasts, and I was about to object by yanking away- And then I realized she wanted me to feel her heartbeat. So I did. And I found that there was none whatsoever; the girl's heart, if it was there, was not beating out any such heartbeat at all.

"Why... Why can't I feel it?" Lincoln shook his head rapidly. "That can't be possible."

"Tell me now..." Heather begged to know. "Do I still feel alive to you?"

"Why are you telling me this now?" Lincoln brought his arm back to the steering wheel, brushing off the coldness he felt from her. "Not the best time-"

Heather finally extracted the other bullet through the hole in her dress, crying out just a little. "It never seems to be, so why not just force it?" She dropped the small metal fragment, letting it fall under her feet.

"H-Hey..." Lincoln had an uninvited guest pounding at the gate of his mind; guilt. "I wish you stayed the fuck back. You're not the one I want getting shot like it's the wild west."

"Is this you-" She hissed from the wound, "-telling me you care about me?"

"Take it as you will, but I'm telling you now, you put yourself in danger and got yourself shot."

"I did it to help you, Jerry," Heather justified. "She could have killed you, but as for me-" The bullet holes on her body were now gone. "You brought me to help, that is what I'm doing, is it not like that?"

Lincoln only growled lowly at her. That part was sadly true. "Fair enough... Don't get yourself killed."

"Same to you..." Heather refunded.

"...Ye-" Lincoln pressed on the covered-up wound on him, and then gazed at her face. Perhaps- "Maybe I've been a little too harsh on you, I'm sorry I struck you."

"I'm sorry I tried to eat you... Have I already told you? I... Don't want to repeat myself."

"Don't try it again, that's all I could ask of you."

"I... Yeah, I can do that..." Heather softly complied. "Hey, Jerry? Um-"

"Out with it, it's... Christ, it's past eleven-thirty."

"You're... A really cool person, e-enough for me to say I don't wanna see you leave-"

And there it was, the bridge that aligned Heather Island to the Chloe Binsley Mainland. The sudden connection, the mutuality, the similarities between both girls- And then he found himself thinking of that soft, humane Chloe Binsley again, this time prolonged. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing with the other three nitwits, and that included the fortunate Jason Chang, right back in that one-story home. If she didn't know yet, if Chang didn't bother opening his mouth, then she'd likely know soon enough- and only if it all went south. Only if it all went-

Heather. Chloe. Polar opposites yet part of the same coin when you got down to it in simple terms. The pair of girls whom made it clear they saw Lincoln as some unconventional guardian angel, a sort of unlikely (anti-hero, perhaps?) guardian angel who, rather that come crashing down from the world just beyond the heavenly clouds, had come digging upwards from a rather scorching land that belonged to Satan and the hellfire club. (You heard it right, folks, the albino-haired young man was a stone-faced, zombified individual with a silver of humanity left, still noticeable to only the lucky few.)

Chloe would be sitting on the porch, full of a strange sentiment of not having seen Lincoln (to her, he was still Jerry fucking Cruise, the alias that was planned for the lie of his cover for the next... Well, up until 2030 would come, and he would be Lincoln Loud again) for quite some time. In her heart, she had real reason to be concerned. How Jason Chang came back, how freaked and spooked he had gotten when talking it over to Alexander and Christian, and the fear- The grave concern for Jerry the hero, the one who gave chase after David Khan, the scum who disturbed the peace and tried to clap Jason back in Town Hall. Jerry arrested, and no one knew anything because (Hey, Patrick Matthews knew but would not tell Chang, not like they were close friends anyway) it hadn't yet reached the news, but it would. It would be on the Dadetown Chronicle at that-

No, it wasn't yet, but the word had gotten out already through the mouths, spreading into the ears of the ignorant. David Khan was not a lovable figure at all, and his murderer was something of a hero- Up until it became known that Jerry Cruise had gunned down Skip Bart in cold blood. Yes, folks, you've heard it right from the horse's mouth. Jerry Cruise, broke out of jail and thw story became rather densely foggy, but it ended up with him going to Matthews' place (Hey, that sounded like an assassination attempt. The story wove to be anti-Jerry at most, no, Jerry wasn't even real- Lincoln was a set of hired hands, as the word had become, bought by the many enemies of Patrick Matthews, to run him out of the upcoming election. Dale Barbara versus Big Jim Rennie all over again, but with a different narrative).

Chloe had not seen him as the fiend the rest saw. He got her out of a pickle, she had to thank him for that, to give him the pass because she saw something else, someone else. Not a killer. Jerry was no maniacal menace like those serial killers, those cowardly mass shooters. He got her out and he showed her some affection when she first gambled on it. And he was rather sweet and misunderstood. And broken in the way she understood. The man was just broken and alone, which made it all easier, and harder all the same.

Supposedly, it could have been left at that for Lincoln. Their friendship (Hey, they met at a bar and she led him to her room at a motel and gave him pussy for protection), or whatever operative word was right to call this, could have ended right then and there. Like this, with Chloe being told that utter rubbish Matthews spun like hay Rumpelstiltskin turned into gold (No, wait, how did you spell that?) for the residents of Dadetown to eat up like hot garbage. It was hot and edible and it was garbage all the same, you could taste it, savor it, and you would never know it was actually bad. It was a meal of McDonald's, the chicken strips from KFC, the overly caffeinated cold brews from Star-kill-yourself-Bucks. Only the finest for the townsfolk, and nothing else that Patrick Matthews could risk letting them have.

That was how it could have been left at, for her to be saved, spared from further involvement. That was Chloe Binsley, everyone, wishing you a goodnight from the stage- And the spot was now occupied by the minor of pale skin and a well-developed body that Nelson Ahmina-Call-Her-Mother-A-Yellerbelly Wheete-Glass, the fat hick summabitch sheriff took pleasure in raping. Oh hell, Heather mentioned the deal. He could have his way with her and she could take care of the bodies of the rubbish Wheete-Glass put down through dirty cops means. The racist, crooked man surely loved to gun down the African Americans he labeled niggers, some stray Mexicans those calamitous beaners, wetbacks, what have you? Then stole your jobs, he preached, they stole your jobs and make anchor babies to keep themselves there. That was how life was these days, a Do-What-You-Want Wonderland, the disfigured version of the American Dream. Raping Heather, statutory rape for an unknown amount of time, but worth to shut down.

Nothing changed. The girl just swapped for another one, Heather destined to walk down the lines of fire alongside Lincoln. Didn't matter who or what she was at this moment, wherever she came from. She proved to be useful here, having an assortment of spectacular abilities when you looked past the one true specialty she came with as part of the package deal. Yummy yummy yummy fingers and toes in her dead stomach.

And above all else, even now, even while the pair were vastly on the run from the police and the influence working its way around the minds of many as it stood. It was beginning, he was the hostile running free around Dadetown, a societal menace at that. The walls, moving in, enclosing around them to trap them, going just as fast as the cop car drove on.

At no doubt did he believe Jessica Dawson would call and tell the mighty Matthews that she fucked up her fast-pay hit on him in broad daylight, which meant that the lunch meeting would be postponed. It fucked him again, leaving him empty and with no other intel to act upon. Remender, Jennings and Ramirez were, at this point, useless in this tiny, silent war of power and pawns. On one hand, a man of long, greasy black hair and prescription glasses (You didn't need to see him with glasses to know he was a blind coot), born and raised in a nothing of a Minnesota town with, you guessed it, Jessica Dawson, a close friend to him (let it be known that she put him into the friend zone that made a simp out of him). Their story had been written already, she had shitty parents, Ms. Matthews took her in like her name was Mikasa Ackerman after the final straw was pushed, set off. Not that Dawson liked to talk about it, and she would never bring it up unless she had quite the alcoholic load in her system. It was why she was a cop today, and that little thing in the past had to be hidden. Why, she would do anything for Patrick Matthews, a debt that was being paid off as it stood.

Unlike the bond the two of them shared, Lincoln could never say he had it. Or maybe he did, and lost it. The thing with Lori, the connection he severed with her when he turned the gun on her- Then what was all that for? The thing in the other timeline? She had him, she consoled and kissed him right on the lips, the follow-up to the years-long (a one-sided romance) kiss he bestowed upon her when she was lying down on her back, looking up into the ceiling and wondering about... Something he didn't know what. He had laid on her, his shirt and shorts compressed against her own tank top and shorts, the perfectly ripe scene for two lovebirds to engage in lip battle. Only, it wasn't like that for him, it wasn't how it played out in his head, not some wonderful fantasy where the mush could give way and be brought to life. No such luck. No such incestuous love could ever be. She broke his heart in one way, and a great many in other ways.

Lori murdered her brother, another count that needed to be told from start to finish, and there would well be more afterwards, because it had more to bring about. The dead live again! The Ungodly Stormbringer that was Lincoln Loud would walk the earth now and with each foostep left was a smoldering spot of burning ash left in his wake. Walking Hell. The Human Force Of Nature. Mister Albino Man. Names of all kind, names with edge attached. Rattle the bones, drop the blood to rigid temperatures, to literally scare the shit out of you until You no longer wished to do what he hated, the qualifications that made you just another piece of shit in the sights of the guns he would loot from the bodies of the dead. Those of the dead, forfeiters of life, the born that were useless. Greedy. Vile. Cruel. The ones who walked without proper judgment. People just like the Freights, you knew the kind. Destructive and evil. All that and more, yet some child's play at most. Lincoln was still just that, a child, a dangerous person to all.

He looked at Heather and knew that he placed her in danger, and that worried him enough. Yet he needed her, she was just like one of those phenos (Maybe she was a pheno! What luck!) he found out about through Alejandra Santiago, the girl with the preposterous claims of a tale she told him- and then she had shit to show that had him envious of all the tech she brought into the fray.

She opened her mouth and formed words but he didn't actually hear her, strangely enough. "What?"

"I said, I want you to stay around me," Heather repeated, changing her words. "You're not like the others- You show no interest in me other than my well-being, and that's... It really is amazing that you exist-"

He could have told her his life story just to counter that claim. Was he amazing? Sure, if you only simplified it as to some gunman loner going out of his way to wipe the scum that made it personal gor him away from the world. Just the one type, and he would be praised by the ignorant, the wrong type of people, those who would pick up a gun and brandish it against those they believed wronged them- and that's one way how he failed. But he would not tell her jack shit, he hadn't a methodical reason to make her see that he was a monster, because he didn't want to. And maybe it was also that she might have sensed. (Reminder that he gave her what for with a sledgehammer, there is nothing ethical or morally correct about it).

It didn't remotely matter anyway. It was not a flex to see who had it the most fucked up, becuase, if anything, it was the same for everyone, whatever direction it went, whatever reason put them down into hell for the torture of life, to live with that burden. One time, Lincoln thought of himself as the egotistical, self-righteous bastard with the self-entitlement to go out and fire away. It was that very Lincoln who went and attacked the Freights. He was right. He needed to wipe them because he saw them for what they were. A cult of extremists, anarchy. Bombs, terrorism. Chaos. The infection they gave Lori. The closest circle he ran with. Oh, and white-haired Lincoln had sex with Rebekka Letenko and got her pregnant. (Hey, give that baby the name of Laika and wait for her to come to you, dearest daddy! I'm sure she'll want to drink with you a fresh shot of that special imported vodka and not to try and kill you!)

Less on the ego, but still the same dick with a gun. Opinions mattered, one said this, the other said that. Here in Dadetown, Jerry Cruise was not on your side, and wanted to come after Patrick Matthews. Read the papers, git yer guns and be on lookout for a man of white-hair- No, he isn't even that old yet, he just dyed it or something- Don't even debate it, we don't care, just call the boys in blue. Oh, did I mention he killed yer hick sheriff Nelson Wheete-Glass? Cause he did. Bye-bye, old-timer.

"Save the compliments, I've got another plan..." He already thought to go to the mansion with Heather and take their grievances at the doorstep. Breaking it down, tossing in the shit they'd fling. A number of guards, if he dared to to inside. A true pity he wasn't with the AZ compound, but we live to adapt and overcome. A tag-team against a wave or two of security guards, sounded simple. But then, there was that second mercenary on the list. That mysterious Raymonds with no face attached to the name yet. But definitely American. "We break into the mansion and lie in wait for him."

"You think that's the way?" Heather had gotten nowhere too far with him- And his promise of food had yet to be kept. She was denied of meat, and had a trial to try new food. (He thought she could change, she could not blame him for trying) Heather wasn't against it, but they were off to bite more than they could chew. The simpler option had been thrown out the window, she didn't like it but she also didn't hate it. "We've been going in circles."

"I'm aware of that, but there can be no other obstacle in our way! There should not be!"

"I trust you," Heather assured him when it sounded, for a faint second, that he doubted himself. Pergaps, to her, he was not thinking outside the box, of the consequences beyond the fight. Him versus the politician with powers, the will to silence and destroy those vocal against him. Operations of all sorts, friends of all sizes. Big and low, physically and mentally capable to win such battles. "If you believe we can achieve that..."

"Hope for the both of us, as you have been already," Lincoln advised. "It's all you can do until we face his hired goons."

The Steel Mill

Nelson Wheete-Glass stumbled his way out of the steel mill, bloodied up with both his blood and that of the others. Right inside, Ramirez and Jennings were dead, killed right in by the escaping sheriff. (Lincy, you failed to have him trapped sturdy!) John Remender, or Johnny-boi, had taken quite the injuries while fighting to contain the man. This man who could throw Johnny-boi's life away just like that, and it was already too messy to fix, too deep a road to turn right back.

Remender was right behind Wheete-Glass, left leg stabbed with a glass share just above the kneecap, face and abdomen still aching with the nice one-two strike. This was a shit fucking day for him, and it was just part of the chain, the recent event that went south ever since the addition of Jerry Cruise. The destruction of Sprocket-3, the kidnapping of the sheriff, and the weird girl with the cannibal fetish and the disgusting, perverted confession she brought to light regarding Wheete-Glass. That camcorder was on Lincoln and Heather now, partaking on that mission to discredit and destroy Wheete-Glass's connection with Matthews. This was so that he could be cut off and have the police force be rendered useless to Matthews, unless of course (oh yeah, Jessica Dawson proved that it didn't matter, but Remender did not know this) the other cops were in on it, or at the very least, showcased their support for Matthews. Could not be, it seemed.

"YOU'RE ALL DEAD!"

"Hnnnghhhh..." Johnny Remender had let himself and the other two bozos make a downfall of a mistake that could not ever be undone. (His life for you, Randall Flagg! His life for you!) "G-get back here, you cowardly bastard!"

At the moment, the Southern sheriff done gon' moving about faster despite his beer gut being a physical disadvantage. Remender had been slowed down with the bleeding leg, glass hurting him but the sudden drive, the fear and strength he needed to get Wheete-Glass to end this and save his life, it was there, it beat the pain but not the slowness. It all worked against him, the world having ropes, holding him back, telling him he had sinned. He had gone down the same road, stopped to their level rather than taking it-

No, he was right to fight back against Matthews. It wasn't that he needed to accept this outcome cast unto him, because it would not be fair. He was a person, with a life ahead of him. He would not ever take it like a good little boy as if this were some school in Japanese, as if this was a game of disobedience. Get fucked over, fight back, he believed. It was wrong, needed to be right, not to be ignored. Supposedly there were sheeple out there who would ignore or be compelled to say to show that shit. Well, of course they would, it had nothing to to with them, and it looked like another headache. Remender did not like that, he wished they weren't so blind-eyed. This meant many of Matthews' friends today. Sheeple packed with the blind eye. Mindless drones, enablers of the sort that did not do him any such favors, but he guessed they leeched on him for what he had to offer. Mindless, greedy drones desperate for freebies. (Sing a song, sing along, the board will be taken down! Come one, come all! Step right up, step right up!)

Remender got thirty feet further before he fell, weakened enough to lose composure and balance. "WHEETE-GLASS!"

The adamant sheriff, as naked as a regular Cletus on the porch, remained to be the victor and ran with the low energy he had. God, the man was cut up but the wounds were dry (and in need of alcohol and a swab) and bloodied up, and it was painful when he ran like that in the breeze of the afternoon. Get to a phone and summon the authorities here was his first priority. To make them pay and quickly find-

Shit, Jerry Cruise and Heather White had long since left. Did they succeed! Had they already done what he feared?! Nix that. To call Matthews to find protection seemed the more reasonable option; he was afraid, sweating balls like crazy, a rare tweaker out of him was born, shining and smelling for Mother Nature. MOTHERFUCKERS!

He knew the address of Matthews' place, it would not be hard to run to. Maybe some driver would pass by, recognize him and give him the ride he needed as fast as he could say jump. He lost the girl and maybe his house had already been turned upside down. Sure, maybe he did lose his status and rep as a Dadetown hero of honor, but revenge was there. Revenge through his friends. Yes. That is what his heart was beginning to crave.

Nelson Wheete-Glass developed a snarled face, keeping it on to wear all the live-long day.

AN: Give this X-Ray999 your shittiest of welcome! Safe to consider this a trial run, we'll see how this fares. Granted, I gave him a deadline, told them to edit and adjust his piece, as long as it ended with the given script. Looks like he did, now let's see what you have to say about this. The exceeding of expectations will have him a spot to write a complete chapter, but we'll see.