Sins in Twisters

Chapter 11: Never Surrender

Journal Entry Number 2,444. November 4th, 2025

It's really ironic right now writing this page on this day.

This time three years ago, we were racing north to catch up to a storm that was about to drop the Idabel tornado and actually get our first intercept. I had never been that close to a tornado so big before, and actually experiencing what the 'eye of the storm' was like wasn't anything like what movies describe it. It was dark, loud, and filled with unidentifiable things flying all around us. We had enough daylight from the truck, just enough to see how the swirling wall of death moved around us. I won't go into details about that. I've already written enough about just that day so many times I filled up the last half of my first journal before that year ended.

But right now, I really wish I could have more positive things to write about…

Things around here have been a bit of swing, miss, and ball to the face kind of deal. We're just now starting to receive the checks from all the crap we had to deal with making that show. A pretty big piece for each episode and advertising that is practically a gift from God now. I really wish that was the right way to celebrate. Partying like we had really just won the lottery with how this year was shaping up to be.

But I guess what they say is true; life can really be a bitch sometimes. Especially when you think it's finally settled for the foreseeable future, and suddenly, the foundation shatters.

I knew that when I was just eleven back in Royal Woods. I was seen as a nerd with an odd family with a mind that went to interests that were common with my peers or what I've come to see as really weird (obsessive by others), and over time I began to learn to change that. Being a nerd meant that something interested you so much you wanted to grow your knowledge of it. Sometimes that could broaden your mindscape to other avenues that one day in the future could surprise everyone and lead you down a road that, expert or not, you could still choose where to stop and go.

Chasing tornadoes wasn't something I thought would be part of my life. Just getting into high school, that was something that didn't even touch my list of things to happen or do in the future. Yet here I am, sitting in a farmhouse dead center of the place that's called the tornado capital of the world for a reason. Five years ago, I was called crazy for accepting an invitation to go storm chasing. I never really left Michigan unless it was a family event. Then suddenly, I visited everything from North Dakota to Florida and Arizona.

It took some time, but I understood what they meant by there was beauty in danger. I never thought I would witness so many things that mankind had no control over. No power to create or stop. Only stand there and watch something that made you feel so insignificant on this planet rage on, like monsters or titans from old mythology or fiction. But when you stand beside something so powerful, it makes you feel vulnerable yet unstoppable. Get close enough to feel the power, and you begin to really respect the power our world can unleash.

For the past three years, we chased down and stood in the path of these monsters. Experiencing the rage at ground zero dozens of times.

But it's funny somehow…

A storm that had become a new king of disaster, the day that would go down in the history books for years until something bigger came along to take that crown; on a day that started like any other, we were prepared and ready for whatever nature was ready to deliver. This year has been filled with a lot of things; so many fun chases and then days where you are watching a city being erased and trying to save as many lives as you can, knowing you have no power to stop the destruction. All you could do was run or hide.

But that storm made us all open our eyes. Made us realize that if you get too comfortable with danger, you become blinded by why it's feared. And when you don't expect it, you are never ready when it bites back and bites hard.

That day wasn't a storm chase. That was a day everyone got to experience what Hell on Earth from the sky was like. People complained, 'Oh, it could have been worse if it was a hurricane,' and yeah, maybe it could. But with a hurricane, you can see where it's going, and when you get closer to the heart, you can't see everything, but once you're in there, it might be a false heaven for a moment, but at least you got peace for that moment.

That tornado made you see it all. That whole storm made you see God shredding his very earth without a care of what was in the way. And you can see it all; buildings, trees, cows, cars filled with the very people you had just sat down with that morning and had a big group breakfast together, fly around a six-mile circle, and disappear in the blink of an eye and you don't know if they're back on the ground or somewhere in the sky. Like it was taunting you at what it had In its grasp that there was no way you could save it….

I know facing things that make you afraid can help make you braver against it. But when you see it evolve into something that scares people that didn't hold that same fear, realize that this was the day to turn away for good and pray you're not present to witness the next time it happens, it can change this.

These past few months, I've been trying to get my anxiety under control. My trips back home to see family have definitely helped me vent this out, along with some medication when I'm away. I understood why Ronnie left and for what reasons she did. If I weren't committed to my friend, then I would have done the same. And her promise made me see that someone needed to be here to keep an eye on things. But really, it was a promise to keep Lincoln safe.

Lincoln… he wasn't the same guy we know anymore. The same best friend I've known for 14 years and counting. I know him just as much as an honorary brother could. Someone to lean on, sit down and talk with when things got down and be there to experience the ups in life. At the start of this year, he was so full of life that it was, at times, hard to keep up with his ideas.

Now the only way I could describe him was deplorable.

He still had that spark. That burning amber continued to burn even after a bucket of water had dosed out much of the flame. The day after Nebraska, he told me of his plan and what he intended to do. It was years in the making, and after bugging him so much about it he told me that after their next intercept, he would finally do it.

I honestly thought from all the sounds they made that night after his birthday party he was going to do it. But he wanted the perfect moment to make it count. He said he felt that day would be the day that history was made on several fronts. That it was going to be the start of a new chapter in life

In a way, he wasn't wrong.

As I saw it, when climbing the mountain of life, you're always looking for that next peak. All the hard work it takes you to reach that point in life is what makes reaching it in the first all that more fulfilling. But when another mountain presents a new challenge, you either make your way down your current peak at pace, or the universe will do that for you in a heartbeat that you can't control.

For Lincoln, I really believed the latter was what we were witnessing.

The first time I saw him being pulled from Storm Shrieker, I honestly thought all those guys were moving a fresh corpse. Seeing him in that hospital bed for the first time, I had never seen my friend look so broken. So defeated. Then I got the call from Rex, and what happened next I felt was the world just being a sick tormentor.

When we realized that when his third surgery was needed back in September, he told me just how bad the situation was now. It made me realize how much it affected all of us directly.

Do I blame him for it? Part of me does. It was just like biting off more than you can chew. But between getting that radar truck to sending that check back home, he understood the risks and planned for it. I saw it in his eyes that the next would be bumpy after this year, but we'd be in a better spot.

Now we were pushing a boulder up a wet steep hill instead of using a crane to get it up there.

This past hurricane season, we had been almost just the same as with the tornadoes. Lincoln said back in May that after the fourth of July if tornado season had died down and the Atlantic picked up steam, we'd head down to the Gulf of Mexico and do our second year of hurricane chasing. Even Discovery was interested in a little mini-series involving us chasing them when they made landfall.

They made us big bank, and at the same time, we helped everyone we could.

Now we're almost at the end of the season and only had four storms come ashore. Most of the time, depending on what happens, we'd chase them inland to see what kind of tornadic activity they would cause. So far, had been quiet, but with Melissa currently eating the Alabama and Mississippi coast line and what they're calling for the next week, I wouldn't doubt we won't see some action.

Right now, we're making progress. Even if it's so tiny that you could barely call it progress. The funds coming in from the show have really helped stabilize us. Everyone is understandable that times are a bit rough right now, but we've managed to relieve some issues with our normal operating expenses.

Between everything we've got going now, the bulk of our main income has been going to try to fix everything from this year and get it ready for next year. But most of it, from what records I've seen so far, we've focused on trying to get Lincoln himself fixed. My back still twitched after what we had to do.

We have a long way to go before everything is back to a hundred percent, but we're trending a dangerous line right now. Lincoln said that if something doesn't change soon, next season could mean make or break for us all. At the same time, I know that all of us would be a bit bumped or find a way to keep ourselves busy if we can't chase anymore.

I do fear for how Lincoln will be able to keep marching on when everything he's worked for is gone.

End of entry, Clyde McBride.

With a sigh and a light tap of his pencil on the edge of the book, Clyde debated whether there was any more to add to his thoughts that he felt were best written now or later. At the flicker of some ideas, he went to put his pencil to the blank sheet on the other side to-

*crunch* "Who are you talking to, Clyde?" A muffled voice followed by chewing from behind him made the young man jump from his seat.

Nearly dropping his book when he suddenly launched it from his hands but failed to catch his pencil before it hit the floor and started rolling away. With quick reflex, the McBridge kneeled and scooped the writing utensil off the wood floor, flipped back to the page in his book he had just written, and snapped it closed to ensure it was trapped.

After his brief heart attack, Clyde glared over at the older man standing in his bedroom doorway, munching on a bag of BBQ Lays chips and standing practically motionless aside from gifting his mouth with another chip.

"How long have you been standing there?"

The man consumed another chip, chewing slowly as if just to waste more time till he was satisfied enough to answer, "Life is a bitch?"

"...so pretty much all of it?"

"I heard the first part. I didn't know what you were saying till that part. I was heading to the lounge when I thought you were talking to someone." He inserted another chip, "You and Lincoln tend to do that a lot when there's no one here or even a camera."

Clyde felt his hand reintroduce itself to his face as he sighed, shaking his head. If it was one thing the past three years had taught him aside from all things weather, it was that Rex would prefer to watch someone make a fool of themselves for the sake of entertainment till it ended or he got pissed off.

Three years since he met the man, he hadn't changed much.

Out of everyone back in June, Rex was possibly the least shaken by the events of Kingman. He said it's not easy watching the destruction and death, but sometimes, you must put it aside to ensure you can live another day.

Since his call back in July, Rex had been staying at the farm more often than at his house in Del City. He wasn't a meteorologist to the same degree as Shay or Daniel, but he was the best mechanic the team could ask for. With how focused Lincoln had been on fixing the trucks, he had effectively moved in until Lincoln wasn't either sleeping like a corpse or walking around like an 80-year-old man with bones being held together by glue and staples.

Though circling back, Clyde did feel a bit embarrassed. He started developing the weird habit of talking out loud, like speaking to a crowd. It was something everyone he knew that knew Lincoln did like it was the most common thing in the world. He eased out of it, yet when the cameras came, it was like it never left.

And speaking of Lincoln, "Any changes with him?"

Rex shuffled his bag for a second, "He's awake. Got halfway down the stairs before Shay noticed him. Said he wanted some fresh air." He said, pulling out a chip and munching it.

"He did?" Clyde asked as he spun and sat down on his bed, "Last I checked on him an hour ago, and he was more out of it than a burnt light bulb. And it's like… almost 9 pm." He looked over to a wall clock to confirm the time.

"He was. But when I came up the stairs, I passed him heading down. He's probably outside right now."

"He's outside right now?" Clyde felt his eyes widened. "It's only like 41 degrees outside, he can barely walk, and you just let him outside?" bolting to his feet, Clyde dashed across the room and snatched a light coat off his desk chair. Quickly slipping his arms through, he marched straight for the door before Rex moved his occupied hand in his path.

"Now, before you go after him, just let him be. You're more worried about him than any of us combined, but the kid needs some time. I don't know if it's the medicine finally working, but the doctor did say it can affect his sleep." He placed his free hand on Clyde's shoulder, "Let him have his time. He's been stuck in bed for the best part of last month and hasn't been able to even get down the stairs without help. We'll probably end up carrying him back upstairs or dumping him on the couch if he passes out again."

Wanting to argue that it was risking his health, Clyde felt his words slowly fade when he understood where Rex was coming from.

In the past, he understood that his best friend liked his personal time. Just him, his thoughts, and something to read or watch to burn the time. This whole year, he wanted to move and keep going even after being bedridden for the first time. When he heard there was a chance of tornadoes up near Wyoming and Nebraska or when the first major hurricane of the year hit southern Texas, he was like a corpse trying to reanimate itself. It got to the point where they had to hide all the car keys to keep him from driving off to try and go after it. It took them until his fourth surgery to finally make him understand he wasn't fit to travel like that. It was a mission in itself to get him to the local clinic to get a check-up.

And it wasn't hard to see that demoralized look in his blue eyes to know that he didn't want to. But fate had told him to stop. But that worried him. That worried all of them. Ever since Kingman, since Ronnie and now, Lincoln kept saying the same thing, 'You can't keep down a Loud.'

Seeing he wouldn't stop to get better was a bit motivating. Clyde honestly could say at times, Lincoln was exhibiting the kind of attitude that Lynn would have. But that made him worry even more. He knew how Lincoln's family worked; stubbornness till defeat was a trait he saw in all of them.

Looking out his window, he could see why.

Though this time of year, the sun goes down earlier than the late spring, whenever there were no clouds, you could still barely see its light from the top of the house. But there was a different kind of light outside tonight than just the stars. Everyone at the farm knew where it was and how far.

He could only imagine how Lincoln felt like nature was taunting him at this point.

With a sigh, he shook his head, "Where's Shay?"

"She's down in the lab working on the Dow," Rex answered, dropping his arm and stepping aside to let the man pass.

With a nod of thanks, Clyde stepped around and headed for the stairs. Coming across the balcony to see the living room practically a dead zone with only a corner lamp and the kitchen giving the large room any source of light. Making haste down the stairs and looping around to the basement door, he could see the lights were on in full force as he headed down. Heading down the hallway to the lab, he saw Shay just getting up from the workbench with her laptop.

A bit surprised from seeing the door fly open, she took a moment to calm her nerves and shook her head, "Gosh, you scared me, Clyde. Try to make some noise when you try to be a sneak next time."

"Sorry, Shay. I was… I'm kinda…" He tried to speak his mind but opted to bring a hand up to the side of his head. Clenching into a fist before making it look like an explosion had come out with a little explosion sound.

Shay snicked, "Yeah. I've had a few of those so far today." She motioned her head towards the stairs leading out of the basement to the outside for him to follow as she headed out.

Glancing under the edge of the ceiling, he saw the radar truck parked close to the house with the rear cab door wide open with numerous cables snaking their way out and down into the lab. Minding his step as he followed, he could see it was deployed with its legs down and the tower raised roughly half mast. The dish was moving back and forth in a small arch, mostly pointed to the sky with a few passes before it tilted higher to repeat the motion.

Stepping up into the night atmosphere, feeling the cool November air rushing down the open doors, he was surprised at how close the truck was to the house. Any closer and the dish would have hit the edge of the porch roof.

Pulling open the partially closed door, Shay stuffed her laptop off to the side of the command chair before grabbing onto the side rail and hoisting herself up into the cab. Most of the equipment was powered down, with a missing part of the data tower and a swarm of cables coming up underneath the command chair under the console. Of the three screens he saw, one showed the active live radar as it scanned back and forth, and the other showed various diagnostics and software programs being run.

From an outside view, the truck itself looked pretty much ready to chase, aside from the technical issues that were still plaguing the system. With a new radar came new headaches that they hoped to fix now than before when they were actually on the road. Plopping herself in the chair, Shay reached back and pulled her laptop back around to the console and plugged in a cable. The moment she flipped open the top, the fourth screen of the main board flashed onto the same display.

Coming up to the edge of the cab and pulling himself up, Clyde had had to twist himself into an awkward place, given there wasn't much cab space left in the rig to begin with. He said it before they should have gotten either of the two 'newer' models with bigger cabs, and to this day, he will keep saying it, but with enough experience was able to squeeze himself into the doorframe. Leaning back against the edge with one leg holding him in the truck and the other hanging out on the step boards.

Feeling some of the cold metal seep through the back of his shirt and butt, already feeling the cables digging in, Mcbride pulled his glasses away as he rubbed his eyes. "So, how's the new system?"

"It's almost there. Might have to run down to the facility in Norman to make sure everything is squared with the rest of the network." Shay answered as she typed in a few commands into the console. A download prompt appeared as the dish outside stopped moving.

Clyde nodded as he put his glasses back on, "I really hope this prototype was worth gutting out the old system. I get they'll put it on another truck; why did it have to be us?"

"Because the university is our only current source that isn't just a monthly check," Shay answered as a matter of fact. And Clyde couldn't argue with that; the new system they got was supposed to be the attempt at making the C-band system a lot more portable and mobile than the version that required a crew to use a crane to build it on site. When titled up, it just barely reached below the limit of being road legal without hitting a low-hanging bridge when driving.

It was a big upgrade. Spawned from the research that had come out of all the data collected this year by many to have a better view inside the storm. They were somehow 'lucky' to be the unit chosen, given after the events in June, the truck had to get overhauled again despite running one of the oldest trucks in the known fleet. But that posed another issue that was just another piece in the bigger picture. The system itself cost more than what they had spent to get the truck in the first place. If something breaks that don't require them to run down to Norman, it is on them to fix it.

It was that last detail that made him worry again. The team wasn't built for science; it was built for photography and filming. But in going this route, they had a source of funding for next year that if they did as great as the last three years, they wouldn't have to worry about the cash for fuel and equipment. But if so much as a single hailstone punches through that dish, they might as well sell off the farm and go home.

It was a game of high risk, high reward. A game that they had played many times, and they thought that so long as they were not cheating Death, nature would play a fair game. But with everything that went down this year, he doubted either cared.

Removing his glasses, Clyde rubbed his eyes. Letting out a low breath as he didn't know if it was a headache that wouldn't go away or mental exhaustion eating away at him. "Next year is gonna be a mess…" he said more to himself. Thinking back to how the summer went, his little trip back up home to Royal Woods was meant to be a way to get his mind cleared for a bit. Now he felt like his doing that had caused something to happen.

Was it fate? Luck? Karma? That of all the times he stopped in that town was to run into one of his friend's sisters and have them go hunting down Ronnie for answers. It had to have been that very time of all of existence.

He didn't know the answer to that. No one else knew where to try and answer that.

Feeling where he was coming from, Shay had to agree, "Though." She leaned out a bit of her seat to look around the edge of the door, "I wonder how he's gonna be."

Following her gaze, Clyde had to stretch his neck a bit to look around the door to see where she was looking before he felt his shoulders sag at the sight that was rocking back and form in a chair at the corner of the house. Barely backlit by the kitchen light as he could tell in which direction the man was looking.

At the edge of the house, on the porch closest to the hanger and driveway, sat a sight that if you told someone that wasn't an 80-year-old man sitting in his rocking chair watching the night sky roll by, they'd ask who the hell was it. Even if you asked them yourself, you would, at best, get the sound of silence as the answer.

And that was a peaceful sound. Forming the foundation of a little musical tone that came to his ears as the man used his left foot to keep his chair moving with the sound of distant thunder. He could remember the day he got it; a gift from a couple that gave it as a thank-you for helping them during a destructive storm in Arkansas two years ago. Hand crafted and stained that it was of such quality, he questioned whether they should keep it in the situation he couldn't take it. But they insisted, and now it sat in the corner with the perfect angle where anyone sitting in it had to look over their right shoulder to see anyone coming up the driveway from the road, even the fields beyond it. And beyond them lay Oklahoma City itself.

Looking ahead, he could look inside the hanger to see what was happening from within. The yellowish lights pouring out from the windows and wide open bay door lit up most of the backyard enough you could host a party with it. KnightOne stood halfway out the doorway, facing himself with the rear backed up inside with the sounds of power tools and talking. Two dark silhouettes moving above were obscured from vision till they turned around into the light. Moving around, sliding under, or leaning over his nine-ton creation. For a second, the sound of nature was broken by an impact drill struggling with something. Whining under strain before something dropped to the floor, and he heard a brief 'got it' from one of them.

From how he saw it, both of them were in deplorable states. But the difference was if something on it broke, they could immediately fix it. If it was the door, the spikes, a window, a computer, a fender, or a headlight, they could fix it in an afternoon and have time to work on a dozen other things or relax. Repairable was one of two words he felt echoing in his mind since the day he got back.

Broken was the second, and one he felt fit most to himself.

After July's fiasco, he had hoped to get things back on track. And they were; with the contract for the show and what footage and data from that day in Kansas he was willing to release, his second surgery had at least fixed the main issue that caused him even to need it and had made him get the kick in the pants to stop moping and get moving.

Then after just one day, he felt like he looked now. Dressed in just a green beanie covering his hair that had long needed to be cut. A tank top hidden by a brown coat with a blanket covering his sweatpants and socks hiked high enough that the chair wouldn't pull on it. Had he not had the white bush calling most of his chin and cheeks home, he would, at best, look like he was in his late forties with how tired his eyes looked.

He busted his ass every moment he could walk without feeling exhausted from just crossing the gap between buildings to see what monstrous task lay before him. The tank was a mess, the radar was a mess, KnightTwo was mostly less of a mess than it was two months ago, their finances were a mess, and he was still a mess.

Most of that list was easier to fix. Getting the tank road worth again took priority because they could drive it somewhere to get parts and maintenance. The truck needed some overhaul but was mostly ready to chase. Most of September and October were spent getting the radar repaired and upgraded so that even if Storm Shrieker was out of commission to intercept, they could still chase any late-year weather systems and make a little extra bank. With a bit of time and money, everything could return to 110 percent by the end of the year. It made him relax just a bit at that idea, but the devil in the details made it hard for him not to look at what everything that caused this and the results now.

Looking off to his left, gazing passed the field of grass that comprised the backyard with bits of equipment and a closed-up pool, following a dirt road that branched off the side of the hanger, passed the trees, and into the seemingly endless fields that surrounded them. The horizon was a deep orange, the sun just barely above the earth acting as a backdrop to a distant storm.

From the rumble he could hear, it had to be no more than six miles away. All he would have to do is get on their road, drive north, and wait for it to meet him head-on. He could see the pulses of purples, blues, and whites from inside the towering anvil that obstructed the stars. He had seen this show so many times now he had lost count, but each storm presented him with its own unique show that sitting and watching it roll by was better entertainment than anything he could find on television.

Times like these really made him think back to that day when he was inspired to do what he does. He had so many possibilities for a future career with time to see what spoke to the soul. But in less than three days from the worst time of his youth to thinking about his future, that drive with his Grandpa Leonard made him see what else the world had to offer.

He thought back to how he pictured it. Despite each storm being different, no matter the place or time or how big and strong, it was the same storm he saw Ace Savvy fly into to make his last stand to protect those it wished to harm. Each storm after that day was that fight still continuing. No matter how much it hurt him, made him bleed, and wished to stop, he kept going. Each flash of lightning and boom of thunder was him defying the odds to do what he felt was right. The silence between storms wasn't him winning the battle; he was looking for where his enemy dared to spring up next.

And he felt that within him—that persistent drive to keep going. Even when the world smacks you down, this is the time you look around and see what your path will become. Stay moving, and you can see your new goal. Stay still, and you can possibly never escape the hole you're in.

Yet he felt now that he couldn't escape it; a week ago, he was in that hanger working on the new spikes, moving around with some of that old energy that was coming back to him. Two days later, he's back on the meds that knock him out for 18 hours daily or be more wide awake than any coffee he ever had could give him. He tried going a few days without it, pushing his system to try and work a day to get something done. Every day he was sitting in bed on them was a day money was burning, which only added to the fire they were fighting. Had they not hidden the keys and been able to walk to the truck, he would have taken it and just his phone to chase the cell before him. To make him feel that spark of adventure to reignite.

Maybe this was the world telling him to stop. To rest for a moment and take stock. God knows what could happen if he got in that truck right now. Pass out at the wheel, be too unfocused to pay attention to the road, and cause an accident. Made his team panic wondering where he was. Everyone was exhausted enough with him in his current condition; he didn't have it within him to do something to make it worse. Sure, it was a beautiful storm out there, destined to eventually fizzle away into all its tiny drops of water vapor and spread out through the sky to one day join with the ocean or create a new beast. One little storm before him wasn't worth what the possible future held if he waited just a bit longer.

For him to heal, the truck be ready and then in the right place at the right time.

Though with the idea of healing and waiting for the right day, he felt his thoughts drift back home. He had to guess his family was having dinner after a long day of work and school. He could imagine Lola talking about how her reputation as Queen of the School was solidified by the day, Lana practically teaching the wood shop class herself. Lisa was probably coming in late from her own lectures, and Lily was the one leading the charge regarding how her time in Elementary was going.

He didn't know precisely what all Lucy or his older sisters were up to nowadays. He hoped after the last gift he gave them before everything went the way it did, they would get their lives fully back on track. Hoping they were all reaching the points of stability where he wouldn't have to worry if they had a place to call home. But he found it really odd. He would have expected to start seeing their names across the news by now, across the internet, or even as an image in a store magazine.

There was nothing for Lori's triumphant return to become a golf champion, Lynn dominating the college football scene, and Lucy publishing her first book. Nothing about Luna releasing new music with her name despite him seeing things coming from Sam. No late-night comedy skits with Luan make the crowd go bonkers. Hell, not even any new scientific breakthroughs from Lisa or any word from Lola winning contests without even trying. Lily was too young, Lana's work was based on common practice, and Leni's online store was the only thing actively changing when she updated new ideas, but that didn't tell him how she was doing.

Was what he sent enough? He knew damn well he wasn't a miracle worker, and even back in his youth, he could only do so much to help push them to their goals. When he left, He always thought he was like a pusher engine at the back of a long and heavy freight train. He gave it that extra power when he let go, hoping he had set the train in motion to keep rolling on without his help. Maybe they were still adjusting and still healing. Having just had their world rocked and quickly having a way to fix it could cause them to be overwhelmed. They were still working back into their old routines before fate struck them down.

He wished he could have been there. For all of them, even before knowing what would happen. Had he been there, things wouldn't have turned out like they did. He felt his heart break each time he got news of what happened, and just when it was roughly back together, another accident came, and took another chunk with it. Many times he was ready to turn Shrieker around and floor it, to drive that thousand miles in a single day all the way to the front door of that house to be by his sisters' and family's side.

But reality asked him a question; if you were there, what could you do?

It was the question that was asked so many times whenever he chased a destructive storm through a town and was the first to start the search and rescue. Pulling people out from the remains of their lives with what they were as all that remained. He felt it within him to try and be there; the Foundation was that very embodiment that allowed him to help more than be another man with a camera chasing the wind.

For his own family, he could have been there for them. Give them that moral support that they'll get through it. A shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen to their woes and give words to ease them, to be the warmth by their side to ease nightmares away. It was one of his most vital traits in life. But how could words help someone who's lost their voice, their ability to walk, or their organs to function properly? What he did was how he saw that could be his one last push, his last big gift to let them live on. He knew out of them all, Lisa would know what to do for them and needed that little extra resource to fix it. He was the source; she was the conductor to make the real magic happen.

He should have known that there were going to be consequences. The thought that it wasn't enough made him feel like a pit was twisting through him like a black hole.

That was his choice; this was the result.

The year started with big plans. They got Dow/Sky Spy back in February as probably his third biggest investment at the time, something critical for how the year would be their biggest. They got contacted to be stars of a special season of a hit TV show and were on the verge of breaking their own world records. And had that day in June turned out different, he wouldn't be sitting out here alone.

He didn't remember when he called Bobby, maybe just before August ended, when he asked how life was going. Managing the store, the new heart of his world, and how Ronnie was doing. He answered the first with enthusiasm; he remembered seeing his dad when he told him he got five younger sisters and that he was proud to be a dad five more times. He told Bobby that he was one of those people that were naturally born to be great fathers. The first child was the ultimate test the universe gave him; to break from his old shell to love and guide the new life he helped create.

But when he talked about Ronnie, he felt like he shouldn't have asked that part at all. Like he was reaching through the phone trying to rip off a healing scab to see if it was going to bleed the moment he pulled too much.

It took some time for her to adjust to her disability. To learn how to focus with just one eye and how to deal with the lack of depth perception. He spoke of the time she tried getting back in her old groove, some of the tame stuff she did when she was a kid, to feel a bit more like her old self, how she tried skateboarding for the first time in two years and broke her left wrist from misjudging how close she was on a return jump and landed in the wrong way. She took the pain in stride, waving it off as something that was bound to happen when you don't do something as physical as you used to. She said it was nothing compared to the crazy crap she's been through.

It did help a tiny bit that she took reality for what it was. It reminded him of the old times when they were kids; she still embraced the Queen of Pain. It was how she got used to the chase so fast and was practically fearless, driving them into twisters. But he had known her for years; he knew how she ticked. Maybe it was Bobby just trying to make the situation out to be less damaging, or he spoke the truth; he couldn't tell.

He didn't remember exactly what happened after that point in the call. Only that he put his phone down and woke up the following day with his pillow soaked and feeling more drained than ever. No one was in the house that night to tell him what he had said or done. Only the walls and God knew what he had unleashed from that moment of defeat before he felt himself wake up the day after, not knowing what it was. Wondering why he was alone in bed and went across the hallway to find an empty bedroom with nothing but a dresser, stripped bed, and an empty closet to greet him. And it made him see where he was now, in a big, empty house.

He didn't sleep for a few days after that.

No matter what anyone tried or what he did, his mind was spinning faster than any twister dreamed of reaching. He checked every account, looked at every little piece of change they had to manage with, and started making calls. Asking how much procedures would be and how much the long-term effects would take. He didn't care what he had planned would bite him in the ass in the future. If it came to the time that he would need it, it was his fault for getting in that situation. It was his fault for getting Ronne into that situation.

He wasn't there for his sisters. He wasn't there to prevent what happened. But he was there for what happened to Ronnie. He was the one behind the wheel that led them to now. She had suffered because of him.

One way or another, he was going to fix that.

He was going to fix all of this…

"Lincoln?" He heard Clyde's voice call out as footsteps on gravel approached. Feeling his alone time was over, he looked briefly over his shoulder to see his friend walking up the steps to the deck.

Licking his lips and sucking in some air, "Yeah?" he said as loud as he could. Not feeling it in his lungs to yell. Looking back to the hanger, he listened as the footsteps approached until he felt the floor shift from the weight standing beside/behind him.

When he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, he craned his head just enough to look up to see the solemn look behind those glasses that he had seen all too often. It made something in him groan like a rusted gear slipping on its axle and trying to turn, making him look away and back to the yard.

"...How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," Lincoln answered bluntly. Not in the manner of being rude, but having been asked that question so many times, it lost its meaning to him to it playing like a broken record.

"Things will get better, Link. Everyone experiences bad luck in life now and then."

He scoffed, "This feels more like a curse than just bad luck anymore."

Clyde winced at bringing up luck, but he had to agree. It was like Lincoln's whole family was cursed. Everything started fine, then that entire incident with the suit. Things stabilized, life improved, and something could make them go one step forward or ten steps back. And each time that happened, Lincoln was the one to fix everything. The first time was understandable; it affected pretty much the whole world. The second time, however, made him really stop and consider if Madame Misfortune just liked messing with Lincoln's family and got pissed that he ended her fun, so she decided to focus it all on him now.

Before he could speak, Lincoln sighed, resting his head on his arm as he resumed his steady rocking, "What are we gonna do…."

"Well… from what the account balance says, the show was one of their biggest hits in years, and our merch store has gotten a lot of activity now; I'd say we can make it through the winter if we're careful."

Right… the show had been out for almost a month now. They got it for free on their TV and even an extended edition that basically added three more episodes. He remembered only watching the first two episodes before never touching it again. It was nice seeing how their year started, their success, and high moments. But he didn't have to watch to know how the show ended. All Hail the Kingman? Yeah, people probably did. He heard some buzz that the show was already planning an eighth season for next year but had heard nothing about their team being asked to sign on for another season.

Why? Too reckless to work with, they said. Deemed as a bad example of what they wanted audiences to see that set a bad light in the broader community.

'Bullshit. If that were true, then the show wouldn't have needed fake drama and be canceled after its fifth season….'

He did wonder who all watched it. How many people he knew back home got to see this loud white hair boy show them how crazy he was? Years ago, he would shout to the stars that he was a TV star, and his family would hound him for their chance in the spotlight.

Now he wondered just how many people saw him become obsessed and dance with death. He wondered back to who in his family could have seen it either. Disaster flicks were one thing he knew some would get a kick out of, not something almost eleven hours long. Maybe Lisa would study everything and come up with twenty different solutions or reasons. Maybe his parents will get a chance to see how their boy has grown since leaving the nest.

His parents. He hadn't called them for almost a year. Too caught up with things to spend ten minutes checking in on the family. He did it with Bobby; why not his own blood? He had plenty of days where he wasn't working on the trucks or videos, running errands, or chasing. Days that he spent literally playing around or relaxing.

Hell, they had a whole week of downtime before Kingman, and he forgot about calling them on his birthday. Sure, it's supposed to be the opposite of who calls who, but with his life, it had to come from his side. 'Christ' he had missed all of their birthdays literally. Not even a single text or letter was sent to show them he was still keeping count. His brain had been in so many places he had to force it to focus on what he hadn't missed.

If he remembered correctly (and prayed it wasn't the meds messing with his memory), there were only two birth dates left; the twins in December, and if he remembered what today was, then Leni's was just three days away.

What could he do? It's not like he was in the position to drive a thousand miles and not crook on the way there. And if he knew his team like they were, he'd have to pull a miracle moment to get back on the road to anywhere.

*SLAM*

His attention snapped towards the source of the noise in the hanger. Watching the two men bolt Storm Shrieker's hood closed.

"You good?" Clyde called out. One looped around the driver's side and hopped into the cab. The other picked up and dropped some tools in the back of the pickup, giving them a thumbs up.

"We're gold!" They shouted back. Jumping into KnightOne as the truck rumbled to life. Its headlights blinded them for a moment as it pulled out of the doorway and off to the side of the driveway.

Then from the dying sputter of its engine switching off, like an awakened T-rex, a roar that made everyone stop and turn came from the hanger. Rex stepped out of the kitchen door, and Shay popped her head out from over the roof of the cab; the driver of KnightOne stepped back out, and Clyde watched in amazement.

And Lincoln stood up. Tossing the blanket aside and forcing himself to stand up so fast he felt whiplash hit him.

Like staring into the opening eyes of the beast, Storm Shrieker's headlights flashed on as it began to inch its way out of the hanger. Rolling off the concrete floor onto gravel, it was like it was giving Lincoln an acknowledging nod as it left the shop's lights and entered the darkness. Slowly with the gravel grinding under its weight, the behemoth slowly approached the house as Lincoln felt himself slowly approach the railing to support himself. The tank made a sharp turn to the right, pulling its driver side up to face the porch as it nearly touched its nose against the front jack of the radar truck.

With less light available, it was a bit difficult to see everything on the tank. But the most obvious was how its original gray was now blended together with most of the front cab painted a base white. The driver door had some discoloration on its stainless steel, but that was just the result of the tools and chemicals. The entire front was almost entirely stainless steel, shining like a giant polished mirror with a few parts still their original gray or offset by the new black hood.

Lincoln felt a sense of hope surge through his nerves as he watches Daniel kill the engine. The rumble slowly faded like the beast going back into slumber after letting the world hear its voice.

Two months ago, the tank drove just as it did before. Its engine was still one of the strongest he could find to fit inside the frame and get every inch in the balance of power and speed it would give them. Before, it roared like any monster on the highways; now, it was its own breed of demon. Nearly 15 thousand dollars just for the brand new heart that resided inside that steel-encased skin. Built with three years of experience to design something that would be the kind of change that would make sure of lasting for another decade and power its way through conditions it fought through back in June.

New axles, new transmission, new anchoring spikes, more armor, he knew their work was just another step toward the final goal. Lincoln knew Shrieker wasn't ready for an intercept, but she damn acted like she was ready to conquer all of Tornado Alley. To unleash the increased power of a dreadnought.

Lincoln felt it was ironic in the way they both acted and looked. Disheveled, messy, tired, ready to charge into battle, slowly being patched back together. On instinct, he reached back to scratch part of the left side of his back. Felt the deformation through his coat over an area he thought was just like the weld lines on the armor.

Turning his gaze back to the sky, it was like the storm, too, had heard the demon of steel emerge from its cave as he barely heard anything. A large bolt briefly connected the top and bottom of the tower before disappearing, and the show seemed to wind down.

He knew they still needed time before they could roll out as one. Maybe by the end of the month, they could be chasing again, just like they did when they started out. But without the radar, he knew intercepting or even just getting close, it would be a massive bill to fulfill.

He had seen the forecast for this weekend. The chance to go after the hurricane down in the south had come and gone but with it was the chance to hunt his normal prey. If what he saw today was a sample, he wanted to know what was for dinner and where the main course would be. Mother Nature was not going to wait for the radar, or the tank, or even him, and he was getting tired of it.

By now, they would have been preparing for what was about to be the year's second tornado season while preparing for Thanksgiving. Their financial situation would still be a thorn, but it would be small enough that it was manageable.

But that time and plan were gone. No force in the universe could give it back to him to change just one thing that could have changed everything. Had he not bought the dow, had he not sent that check, had he not kept his focus on those around him and caused him to be distracted from what was right in front of him.

He could feel splinters poking his hand from how tightly he clenched the railing—letting go just enough so he wouldn't need to find some tweezers later and pluck wood out from his skin as another distraction from his thinking. They needed to condense, solidify, and lock down every little bit they could. Remove what was sucking away resources and cut any loose ends that could lech off them.

They had a lot of ground to make up. Starting this weekend and onwards, they needed to focus on getting out of this unless hail core and back out ahead of the storm. He thought of everything that could be done to maximize their chances. In part, Lincoln looked over to where along the opposite side of the driveway where KnightOne was parked sat KnightTwo with a tarp over its roof to cover the windows and all the team's personal vehicles. He focused on his Toyota Forerunner. It was a bit dusty, but with a wash, it would look like it had just rolled off the look with a bunch of upgrades.

In today's market, he could easily get back just as much out of that car now as he did when he first bought it. That's a chunk of funds in itself, and no more monthly costs for another vehicle. Where he could sell it, he had a rough idea. What else could he get rid of to increase their chances? He'd have to look deeper. Though he wished the crazy idea gathering in his head would speak with a voice that didn't make other people think he needed more medication, it spoke rationally. Spat out facts and logic he felt Lisa would agree with. And he agreed.

No matter what stood in his way, he wasn't going to fade away on a bed. He wasn't going to let one disaster bring down the future. He wasn't going to let some ancient curse try to stop him now.

He was a Loud. The family saying was you could never keep on down. Through any level of hell, they would find a way to get back up. Kingman might have been the force to knock him down. If it were an act of God that was needed to stop him once, then it would take a force far greater to stop him this time.

(Note: These AN notes are written before, during, and after hand to convey my thinking. Not based on what's changed, reviews, etc., and is borderline me ranting out loud my way of thinking.)

Interesting note: I wrote this whole thing in less than two days and finished it before Chapters 7 to 10. Because of how I've been producing these chapters, I've been bouncing back and forth between everything from Chapters 7 to 14. After I just finished Chapter 9 at 3 am on May 22nd, I started my revamp to this at 4 am and finished it on the 26th at work.

This chapter itself was another impulse idea not so far off as my original chapter 5, but in a way that I felt it actually developed the current situation. The previous chapter presents Lincoln's side of the story as what life was like before it all fell apart. This idea was mainly to push his side more to what he's been through, how he's getting through it, and what the future could be.

The format of this chapter was based on how I've done Lisa's Lodges, where her recordings summarize the passage of time for the Loud family, and Clyde's Journal does so for Lincoln and the crew. However, I bounced around the idea of how to really build it. Part of me wanted a solely Lincoln-focused chapter that was more in his pov; another was focused on his crew with them describing what has happened. Part of me wanted to set this closer to December, but between the realization of what I had set up in Chapter 9 and plan to do for 12, this further sets up what history has given me inspiration for.

To give an idea of where and how this story is, this author's note was written on May 17th and the chapter was started on the 16th before Chapter 7 was even half finished. By the original Chapter 11, we'd be in the middle of Oklahoma right now. These changes have mainly been down to ideas like this chapter and how to evolve the story better. We got introduced to Lincoln and his crew before the disaster, now we see what they are like afterward. Though as I progressed through chapters 8 and 9, I thought, "Do I really need to write out the Kingman Chase?" and thought "Na, maybe later," cutting out the original second part and thus making this into Chapter 11. I feel it works out in that both it and 10 work as a counter to the positives and negatives the year has been.

Part of the inspiration for this chapter was a bit of a combination of other stories that dealt with Lincoln going through a reevaluation of his life. Oftentimes in NSL stories, they have him run to Ronnie or Clyde's house for some time to try and think of the situation. Another part of this chapter was based on what the original chapter 6 (the aftermath of the NSL chapter 5) was to be built around. That chapter was completed before I removed Chapter 5 and went the route I am now. I do plan on releasing it in a modified form later down the line, but right now have no immediate place in the story to put it.

(Note: this sentence was written on 8/22/23 at almost 5am) So at this moment, Chapter 12 already has 6k words and is only just the first section out of five with an estimated word count near 13k to 15k (probably will end up higher) and part of me is wondering if I should break these chapters down into much smaller ones. Often I've making things over 10k plus, but recently started thinking that by stretching and dividing, I can both pump out more in a timely manner and not be burned out so fast when bulk writing. My decision will come down to depending on how Chapter 12 to 14 are made later.

(Note: These AN notes are written before, during, and after hand to convey my thinking. Not based on what's changed, reviews, etc., and is borderline me ranting out loud my way of thinking.)