Patrick Matthews had himself a good lunch, didn't burp for what it was worth, and had a nice pack of conversations with Adam Parson. And no Lincoln Loud across any building to try and snipe him. That was how he expected to go, but nothing happened. And nothing happened because Raymond was close by and surveying the area for stragglers and suspicious people. Nope, no assassination attempt, the lunch was peaceful, and Patrick Matthews had bought the late Skip Bart's estate. Bart had no next of kin, no one whom his place would be passed down to. Hell, not even a will. He simply died not believing he'd be killed quite young, the silly.

Raymonds was redirected to Matthews' place as Parsons took his exit- And Jessica Dawson called and told him how she tried to take matters into her own hands. They were being stupid and incompetent to cringy levels, of course she would. Wounded Heather the man-eater, and had killed Officer Bail of the force for being a traitor, but she withheld the information about Nelson and the footage. He could not scold her, Jessica was simply more fiercer and scarier than him, but still, he was the man with the power, the man who could gather girls for his personal harem. A collective of cocksleeves that he had earned the entitled right to fap to until he passed out.

Whatever, one officer was dead, but it sounded like Cruise and White were still on the run, and a Wheete-Glass had yet to be found. No, wait, it didn't matter if the man was alive or not at this point. "Forget him, he's dead news now."

"That is what I'm thinking, we have to look at it like Nelson is behind everything, I can make it look like he and Bail were working with Cruise. As for Grill... Grill was knocked out when it happened, and he is madly distraught-"

"I'll make Grill have an accident, then..." Matthews ordered with little to no emotion. "His allegiance is with Nelson, I know he'll be insistent on believing he did no wrong. It's the only way to clean this up."

"A little disgusting you'd throw him under the bus just like that... But I can expect no better from you."

"Listen, Jess..." Matthews relaxingly sighed, "take some time off. You're hurt, you'll be on crutches-"

"You don't fucking say..." Jessica Dawson hung up on the other end, taking away the character development from Matthews. Seemed she was rather mad about her foot, he couldn't blame her. And now, he had more hate for Jerry Cruise more than ever. That summabitch was hurting his close friends like nothing, and all he could do was just bark the orders and make more moves against him. Still, it wasn't fucking working-

He called Raymonds-and was redirected to voicemail, so he left am urgent message telling him to track Cruise and Wheete-Glass and kill them both after after giving the order to do Grill in. It was about time this mess was moped up, mess well past due to be cleaned up. Yeah, Dawson was right, they were all being morons, careless and noisy. Little did he know, at that very second, Lincoln, Heather and the escaped sheriff were running towards his mansion with their own intentions.

Not far from there, Jessica Dawson had been patched up by the paramedics, leg receiving quite the works, followed by the trip to General to have her take a rest- And she wasn't about that life, not now even, not when the ragtag police force were down two members not counting her. And there was far more to fix as it was. Good old Patrick Matthews was taking it easier than any of them, why, it was rather unfair and unjust that he sat in the table while everyone else was getting hurt all willy-nilly, and the endgame had not arrived just yet. Damn him for this, for indirectly putting her here, out of the chess match.

She had her own room and made the important calls. Still nothing on Wheete-Glass yet, just to make sure. Officers Hallesy and Roarke kept the precinct up and running, while Bail was on his way to the coroner's by now, and Grill had followed Dawson, ensuring she was fine for the day. "I bet it hurts..."

"I'm lucky to be alive as it is," Dawson shared, lying in the comfort of her bed. "Bail's idiocy could have cost us both of our lives!"

"That fucking Bail was just another traitor," Grill believed. "I wish I were the one to gun him down. Him and that Cruise fellow we know is involved now. Will you be okay her"

"Yeah..." Too bad she could not say the same about Grill. "Hey, let me ask you, what do you think about this? All of that stuff in his basement, I don't know what to think... But maybe you have an opinion on it?"

"You wanna know what I think?" Grill fondly asked. "It could all make Nelson look guilty but I think that was just it. Maybe this Cruise guy and the Russian were in on it, and Bail- That dumbass Bail either bought the lies he and that mystery girl tried to sell us both, or maybe he was in on it too. I wouldn't be surprised, he was quick to accept that Wheete-Glass did it."

"Well, I don't know, I really don't know..." Dawson faked a mastered sigh. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you two during the clean-up. Didn't think that you would get a visit by them-"

"Oh, I'm sure..." Grill scanned his eyes on her legs. "Can't believe this shit, Jess. One dead, one missing, I can't do this-"

"You can," Dawson assured, working her charms to reinforce him. "You're higher than any of us at this moment. You've gotta make the others listen to you, even as few as we are now."

"Man..." Grill wished Bail was still alive, not to be a dipshit. "This really blows."

"Just wait until I heal, then I'll help you out-" Dawson knew what was coming for him, her acting skills on point. "You'll do well to lead, I know it. Hey, you wanna do me a favor?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Bring me a pills of books or something while I'm here," Dawson requested. "Take my keys and keep me posted."

"Sure, simple enough, I get off tonight around eight, I'll have it around the next hour."

"That's fine, thank you." She shut her eyes and took to rest. "Best be going now, the day hasn't ended yet."

"I suppose so," Grill nodded in agreement, already turning out the door after taking her keys. "You take it easy, we'll get to the bottom of this and get justice for all."

"Right..." And Jessica Dawson decided to take a nap- Fake it while he was around. And when he left, she was quick to text Matthews the details; Grill was stopping by at her place, the opportunity for Raymonds to do a fast job. Too bad, Grill was alright, heart in the right place but to be deluded by sentimental connections when it could not be helped. And she didn't even say goodbye.

The Mansion

Wheete-Glass reached his destination just as Matthews came rolling into the driveway in that fancy Porsche that he took out this time, one of a few cars resting in the garage. The sheriff, hopeful to be saved by his friend, the politician of enrichment, tapped his dirty, bloody hands on the windshield. "Hey- Hey, man-"

Matthews only gaped in stupid awe at the fat hick, words bouncing around before he let them out. "N-Nelson-"

"Let me in, let me in..." he begged like a beggar. "They've fucked me over! They-they know, they had the footage-"

"What are you talking about?"

Wheete-Glass had near labored breath, fogging up a part of the windshield. "Jerry Cruise and the girl are together, they- They went to the precinct with the footage-"

"You... You stupid son of a bitch!"

"Hide me!" he begged helplessly. "HIDE ME! HIDE ME BEFORE THEY GO OUT TO HANG ME!"

Matthews never lowered the window, but his voice, the height of volume, was audible enough to pass through. "You damned fool, you and Aleksei dropped the goddamn ball on this! Guess what, Nelson? He's on a steel table, I'm sure, but the man's a ghost, there is no way he could be tagged, thanks to the Sprocket-1."

"Yeah, yeah, you and your mutuals with them Kapacity Korp clearances-" The weakened sheriff tapped once more with added force on the window. "Come on, come on! Y-you gotta hide me-"

"You fucking wretch!"

"PATRICK, COME ON! PAT! PAAAAAAAT!"

"Jesus Christ, have you lost your cool?!" Matthews huffed, grumpy and worried about the staggering, brutalized man walking around looking like some poor married sucker kicked outta his house after a fight with the missus. He knew the man would not go away- and being outside the Matthews mansion gates would raise some suspicion. Even know- "GET IN, GET THE FUCK INSIDE," he screamed as he worked to open the electronic gates up ahead, making him jog further in as he drove the sports car in.

"BY GOD ALMIGHTY, THANK YOU-"

Matthews was quick to alert Raymonds to come over and clean this shit up. Quite a shame, the man was rather useful for the force. "Don't run ahead! My guards will shoot you unless you stick by me!"

"Okay!" Wheete-Glass put himself behind the vehicle, slowly running while Matthews drove forward, waving his hand down to call off the guards when they spotted the sheriff. "God bless! God bless! I'm so hungry-"

At the far backside, Heather made a leap over the wall of hedges easily, because she didn't actually jump, but rather sprung into the air and flew up to match the height on the ledge and stood there. Her eyes scanned the place in a clockwise manner. "I see nothing, no one yet."

"Gotcha," Lincoln nodded, climbing over the hedge naturally. "Cover me."

Good to know she wasn't lying about the flying part. Curse you, Cannibal Girl, you were able to do everything I could not. How dare you.

"Wait..." Heather picked up on a smell. Not just any smell, but a familiar one. "Someone is here, someone-" After a few more sniffs, she made it out and identified it as Wheete-Glass' blood, and shuddered so hard her face turned even more pale.

"What's going on?"

"Jerry, it's him, he's here-" Heather stammered, pointing to the mansion. "Wheete-Glass is here!"

"WHAT?!" The news caused him to slip and fall onto the grass. "ARE YOU SURE?!"

"I know that scent anywhere!" Heather confirmed. "It's him alright!"

"Then- Then those three idiots at the steel mill have fucked up," Lincoln seethed. "Damn them, they had a simple job!"

"S-so they're dead...?" Heather gulped. "They are, aren't they?"

"They're... The lucky ones," Lincoln uttered, picking himself up. "Come, Heather, we've got a job to do."

"And you'll let me eat?!" Heather grinned with great joy, and beneath that, a cruel stitch woven into that grin. "Baby girl's gotta have her fill."

"You're really into human meat, aren't you?" The girl had some kind of resolve, a persistent necessity to devour the flesh of man. It might not have been right, or normal- No, it wasn't conventional in any way, but what was an albino to do? Her mind was concluded, and he tried to deviate her to a specific diet, but he didn't try enough, it seemed. Very well, carnivore, have all the meat you wanted, and more! "I don't think I'd spare anyone here, so... Why not go all out?"

"Huh-?"

"Bite and ravage anyone you want, even the sheriff," Lincoln allowed, putting off the chains that he had wanted to put on her. "But the big man is mine!"

Heather put her hands to her cheeks and wiggled her body as if he had complimented her in the most wholesome manner way possible. "Awwwww, why, mister Jerry, I love you!"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Awww, my widdle heart," Heather fake-cried.

"Place has a chimney, I've seen it before when I was here-"

"Oh, that's how you knew how to get here!" Heather slapped a hand upside her head. "I'm slow.'

"A reminder to give you a pat on the back later," Lincoln put aside. "Now get yourself up there, I'll take the scenic route. Drop and eat anyone you get, one at a time"

"Right, spares me the probability of being shot, no?"

"Regroup on the bedroom of the second floor-"

"Can we stop for sex?"

"GO!"

"Going!" Heather flew up into the air, venturing around the rooftop. And Lincoln had followed her and wound up seeing up her dress, turning away as fast as he saw himself some pussy. She didn't look down to see him turn away, but she had the idea where he did just that. Ha. Heather No-Bikini-Or-Thong White.

Lincoln moved fast, depending on his climbing to get him up onto the second floor bathroom window- And when he exited, Heather had sunk her teeth on one on-the-clock guard carrying an MP5K compact halfway down the hall. She ripped out the guard's throat with hunger and delight, smiling and chewing while locking eyes with Lincoln.

Damn you, I swear if you've been seen- I mean, you had to have come out at the main floor.

Heather waved happily to Lincoln, blood decorating around her lips. "Talk about a slow lunch."

Lincoln came and swapped for the automatic. "Hide the body in the tub, and hurry before we've gotten ourselves this bloody mess, or I'll make you lick it all clean off the floor!"

"Oh..." Heather scratched her head but nodded to comply. "Alright-"

"Was it just him?" Lincoln took aim and scoured the rest of the floor. "On this floor?"

"And a pair down below!" Heather dumped the corpse into the tub, fighting the elegant smell of the flesh that made her nose do a somersault. "I'll be back for you, delicious."

"That sniffer of yours, can it pinpoint Wheete-Glass' location now?"

Heather let her nose do its thing, then- "It's faint now, but it wasn't before. It means he was outside, still probably is."

"Whatever the hell he's come here for, he's walked into his own grave!"

Heather opened her mouth and licked her lips. "It'll be my pleasure to take him."

"Make sure you hurt him real good, got it?"

"Read you loud and clear!" Heather promised.

Five blocks away, Raymonds was already rushing to the mansion in the red truck, loaded to bear, ready for the next war zone to be formed. For double of what was offered at the start, he'd have the most of it, and could maybe make a ton of noise around the private quarters owned by boss man. Him and the M60 with a belt of the armor-piercing rounds to turn the tide. The money to get him a date with a sniper rifle.

And while the bloodiest battle of today was yet to come, mayor Jude Mortimer-Push called for an immediate public conference, speaking over a custom podium in the center stage of the stairs that led up to Town Hall, surrounded by both the reporters and citizens. The few security guards were in between and on his side, keeping him safe from the otherwise quiet crowd. "It has come to my attention that we have a dangerous felon in our midst. First and foremost, I want to address this little problem head-on before you hear it from the networks directly."

Lincoln dropped behind the pair of guards patrolling the main floor, performing a leg sweep on the left one. The second one was for Heather to shred. "Yummy!"

"Recently, a drifter by the name of Jerry Cruise has entered our safe town of Dadetown and wound up taking the life of our beloved Skip Bart, and has made a failed assassination attempt to the candidate Patrick Matthews, one of this town's most-"

"Shittiest of days!" Matthews escorted Wheete-Glass to his mansion, walking up the stairs. "You need a bath, new clothes, and a trip to the hospital-"

"No hospital!" Wheete-Glass insisted with force. "Get me some hot nurse or something instead!"

"You big idiot..." Matthews let his sheriff pawn in, and Wheete-Glass was the first to lay witness to see Lincoln and Heather killing the guards.

"-respectable official Dadetown has to offer. Concurrently, our town sheriff has gone missing due to useen circumstances, but I assure you, Nelson Wheete-Glass will be found. We have suspicion to believe that Jerry Cruise is behind his disappearance but we are not certain until more evidence comes to light. In the meantime, I advise you all to be on the lookout for this man, and to report him when you can see him. He is described as a Caucasian man of six feet, messy white hair in medium length, and a scar on the left side of his forehead. You are not to apprehend him, you are not to approach him, we believe him to be armed and extremely dangerous."

"HEATHER!" Wheete-Glass pushed past Matthews, falling backwards to tumble down the stairs in front of the guards.

Lincoln saw Matthews again and raised the MP5K towards him, firing away all the rounds, but Matthews bounced to the side and jumped over the ledge, falling hard down the corner. "MEN, WE HAVE AN INTRUDER! TAKE CARE OF HIM!"

Lincoln shot up the guards in front of him, letting the thunder course right out of the firearm before they got lucky. Wheete-Glass had himself some damned devilish luck when Lincoln ran out of bullets.

"Asshole, you said that one was mine!" Heather ran past Lincoln and gave chase after the wounded sheriff. "YOU, YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY!"

Matthews brushed off the dizziness and gained focus again, noticing Heather chase Wheete-Glass, and then, when looking up, noticing the murderous Lincoln look down on him with the glare of death. The glare of the Ungodly Stormbringer. And then, Lincoln ran towards him.

"AGH, FUCK-" Matthews went for one of the guns the dead guards have dropped, only for Lincoln to kick at his groping hands and shove him forcefully away, tilting him on his back. "F-FUCK YOU-!"

Lincoln swiped the prize weapon up for grabs and had the barrel kiss the politician's forehead. "No, fuck you, you piece of shit."

A different thunderous roar broke his concentration, his attention breaking away from this perfect, instilled moment in time. Someone else was out there, and that gunfire sound, he knew it was no silly popgun. Someone close by with a different gun, but he wasn't the target on the scopes- and neither was Matthews here. "Heather?! Heather!"

And another boom quaked the atmosphere after a few seconds of silence. He broke away from Matthew and ran toward the direction he saw Heather run to, and was soon greeted by the girl in black again, and her left arm was loosely dangling right out of its socket, one simple tug away from falling right off. It left him dumbfounded and horrified at the same time, mouth propping open with genuine horror. "Y-your arm-"

"Ha..." Heather weakly laughed. "I didn't see him coming-"

"What- Where's-"

"Wheetey is dead..." Heather forced out. "His head exploded, and my arm-" She didn't even move it, a sign it hurt, but her head turned to see the mess left from it. "My arm..."

Lincoln shot his eyes back to the downed Matthews. "Stay close behind me!" He had her run with him, both of them heading back inside with Matthews in town as a package. The politician wad thrown around in the base of the living room. Lincoln wanted to toy with him just a bit. "Heather, head back to the steel mill, you're wounded."

"No... No, I wanna stay with you..."

The little girl looked so damn miserable... And it got to me. Never have I seen such... Gloom. Nothing I could ever say would make her feel better. But if it did, I had no idea what it was.

"You know I'd be right behind you..."

"Maybe..." Heather shook her head. "But still... But still."

You poor miserable child... I want to put you out of this misery myself...

"Hey- D-don't look at me like I have regrets!" Heather snarled with her dead eyes. "Don't you pity me, you piece of shit."

"Your- You arm is basically gone-"

"Doesn't mean I'm dead!" Heather sounded ready to cry with that tone she had on for display. "I'm not dead, stop treating me as if this means something-"

"But it does..." He sighed. "It's not something you could walk away from. I don't want you to live expecting bullets to pass through you."

"Y-yeah?! Well..." And then Heather teared up. "I expect anything bad to do me in..."

Matthews still rolled around on the floor from the pain Lincoln had delivered, croaking and moaning.

"It's always something I don't want, I don't ask for! I miss my mother, the face I can't recall anymore!" Heather sobbed. "And I get all of this madness! My insatiable hunger, these scars, the abuse, and..."

Matthews hyperventilated.

"I didn't even tell you the worse part of being gatekept in Wheete-Glass' place! That... That redhead man, that Skip fucking Bart forced me with him-"

Lincoln's eyes flinched.

"Him above all the rest! He raped me the most! He put on a blond wig and loved fucking me-" She went mildly hysterically. "Sick fantasy sequences! My body, my life was his, and Wheete-Glass let him do me, it was some sick game. It was as if he pretended to be someone else entirely as he put his manhood in me. I hated him, I hated Skip Bart so much! And then I hear word a man of white hair took his life..."

And it all made sense to Lincoln. "You knew..."

"In my eyes, you were always my hero. From the moment I saw you, I knew who you were, and I knew I had to switch sides. Somehow, I had a gut feeling you'd be showing up, and you did."

He studied her, giving her a sad look of pure pity. "Mmm..."

"I had to believe you would! And you did..." Amidst her tears, she smiled widely with joy. "You showed up just like I hoped! I- I could never express my-"

Raymonds popped in behind Lincoln, sneaking right around the back, the large iron in his hands rising up and pointing right at Lincoln's back. Heather huffed and exhaled before moving to run, grabbing Lincoln and putting herself at his six. "What are you-?!"

Raymonds pulled and kept the trigger down, letting out the rounds to hit them both. Here, Lincoln quickly moved fast to take exit. Coming right back outside, he dropped away from the sightlines and let Heather- bloody Heather, torn up by an entire battalion of the bullets, dripping blood and flesh replacing most of her body, dress torn to dangling shreds now, had stumbled face down right on the stairs. Her arm was gone, left behind back in the mansion. The mess the girl left, it was too great to avoid, to put off mentally. That Cannibal Girl was long gone.

"H-Heather..." Lincoln advanced forward, jumping to her aid. "Heath- Why?"

He expected her to move because that's what she could do. She, a cannibal. She, with the ability to fly. She, with a heart that wasn't beating for some creepy, strange reason. She, who had shown him she could regenerate her wounds, and how was this any different? How was this- "Up! Up, girl!"

The socket where her arm belonged, bled out rapidly, dripping the steps with her tainted blood. Not a breath or a sigh he could hear when he leaned close to her. Nothing that told him she was alive- Whatever remained of that mess of distorted carnage. "You're not some normal girl, you can pull through!"

Raymonds made his way out, the war-tearing weapon still in hand. "So you're what this fuss is about."

"Bastard!" Lincoln picked Heatgwe up and cradled the corpse. "She was just a kid!"

"More than just a regular kid, you mean..."

"DO IT! KILL THEM, KILL THEM BOTH!" Matthews came limping out of his place, standing in the best place of this day, right on top with Raymonds, both of them looking down at Lincoln. A god in the making. "YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME?! I'LL DESTROY YOUR LIFE TEN TIMES OVER! YOU HEAR ME?! I'LL FIND YOU IDENTITY AND I'LL SEND THEM ALL AFTER YOU!"

"You hairy piece of shit..." Lincoln was in the bad spot, the barrel of the weapon in sync with his head. One wrong move and it was all over. Damn it... Why didn't I bother getting it back?! That serum... I could have... Couldn't have I?

"Don't be stupid, Pat," Raymonds scoffed. "It's death that is the decided. Get back inside before you ger yourself a heart attack."

"Why you...!" Matthews growled indefinitely. "Fine, take care of them!"

"With pleasure-"

Heather mustered up all her energy she could grasp and forced herself away from Lincoln's arms, taking a frantic one-shot soar into the air, letting out a triumphant battle cry for the ages. Her eyes were still weepy, but it wasn't the time to sit around and cry for therapy hour. The only chance to save her hero, the young strong man of prestigious white hair, had come. Direct it at me! Direct it at me, and spray it in desperation, you army puke-!

Raymonds turned the booming M60 to Heather, firing away as She came down to attack him. "YOU LITTLE DEMON!"

"DO IT, JERRY!" Heather dove right towards the two men on the stairs- and the force of three bullets took her off course, one of them digging into her right eye. D-damn... I'm sorry-

"COME HERE!" Lincoln met the gunner at the top again, elbowing the gun out of grip, then delivered an uppercut and a left hook to push Raymonds back. "DEVIANT SCUMBAG!"

Right as the fight started, a few patrol cars, sirens wailing throughout the calm breeze, came in at full force and surrounded the front of the mansion. The officers got out and drew their guns at Lincoln and Raymonds, which stopped Lincoln from having his way with the enemy. Matthews, the cowardly weasel, took towards the cops and hid behind them for protection. "You've come in the nick of time!"

Lincoln raised his hands up, as did Raymonds, and both men were escorted to their own patrol cars. Matthews wasn't thoroughly pleased, but with Raymonds being arrested, and Wheete-Glass' corpse being here... How could he possibly hide this? What story could satisfy the masses and make him look good in the end?

And Heather still seemed to be dead after trying to buy Lincoln some time.

No, he was here, and Lincoln intended to make the most of it. Right before Lincoln was cuffed, he shot his leg backwards and performed a roundhouser upon the subduing officer and snatched his gun. Raymonds did the same took down his own, headbutting and kicking him down. Matthews stood in place at the other side of the cop car, and Lincoln aimed the standard issue handgun at him. One shot was fired, but it was Raymonds who countered with Lincoln, shooting at the albino's arm. "You and me first!"

Lincoln lost grip of the gun, succumbing to the natural pain. "Damn you-"

Raymonds dropped his piece. "Come on, we we're having a good showdown, I want to see what you can do."

"K-kill him!" Matthews ordered. "I'm not paying you to toy around with your targets!"

Lincoln punched the window of the vehicle and scooped up a large glass shard as a knife, ready for the fight. Raymonds unveiled a large survival knife from underneath the sleeve of his pants, waving it around and tapping it across his face. "Good shit."

Lincoln ran towards the next kill, and the next kill rushed too, meeting him at halfway, and they fought one another, swinging their melee weapons, ducking and dodging each other's attacks. Lincoln got off one leg cut, but in return, Raymonds countered and ran his blade across the back of Lincoln's elbow. Then, Lincoln went for it directly, attacking from a high angle to strike at Raymonds' jugular- Raymonds blocked it and stabbed Lincoln right in the abdomen, no biggie. "That's right, you-"

Lincoln tossed the shard to his other hand, left open so that he could strike, and he did. The shard flung deep into Raymonds' stomach, but Lincoln didn't stop there. The point to stab someone is to destroy their insides. Think of the process like unlocking a door; you'll never get it right when you just insert it without turning it. The idea is to fuck up their intestines and guts, and that's basic military 101, they won't walk away from that.

Lincoln twisted and turned the glass shard on the opponent's body, slicing and desecrating it as much as he could. Raymonds let go of the knife that he shoved into Lincoln, moaning and being engulfed in this great pain, bleeding away hard. His hands twitched about in reaction, the only thing he could do aside from rasping and bleeding out the words. "Y-you son of a-"

Lincoln dug the glass fragment back out and silenced Raymonds by shoving it into the side of his neck, running it to the other side. The sound of his flesh ruptured the air, followed by heavy choking. Raymonds clamped both hands onto his throat. He fell in defeat, submitting to death without any mercy from Lincoln. He writhed around on the ground, doing his best, his hardest to grasp life. And nothing.

"Good God..."

Lincoln slid the knife out from his body and turned his attention to Matthews. "No," he simply said, "just me."

Matthews sighted his only way out, but had some degree of doubt at escaping. "Fuck... You..."

"Let's go for a little ride, Matthews," Lincoln suggested, holding the blade up with a sadistic smile curving his face. "Get the fuck in, right now."

"You can't be serious-" And he obliged when Lincoln circled around the cop car with the knife; he wasn't going to take it. "ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, I'M-"

Lincoln put the politician in the back, leaving in the patrol car. Left Heather and the various dead bodies behind just like that, and he would not think about her just yet. Not when and only when it was all over, the room to be able to breath again, the space he'd get at long last.

Not just yet. Not just yet.

And before they left, he made sure to burn down the mansion, ensuring in Matthews' homelessness.

American Albino, Chapter IX: Scorched Earth