The sun set on Royal Woods Cemetery, casting long shadows across the rows of tombstones. Clyde, Ronnie Anne, Zach, Liam, and Stella stood before a fresh grave, their faces a mix of faux sorrow and barely contained amusement.
The headstone read: "Here lies Rusty Spokes - He Dropped (But His Balls Didn't)"
"Damn..." Clyde muttered, adjusting his pimp hat. "Pour one out for our homie."
As Ronnie Anne tilted a forty-ounce, the wail of police sirens pierced the air. "Shit!" she cursed. "Five-O!"
The gang scattered, but it was too late. Within moments, they found themselves cuffed and stuffed into the back of a police van.
As they were driven away to the tune of Geto Boys' "Still". Rain pelted the van's windows, creating a somber atmosphere that clashed hilariously with the hardcore rap lyrics.
The Royal Woods Prison Home for Infinite Losers loomed before them, a Brutalist octagonal fortress of concrete and steel. As they were marched through the gates, Clyde's internal monologue kicked in:
"Well shit, we in the big house now. But ain't no cage can hold the Third Street Ain'ts. We gonna run this joint, you feel me?"
Meanwhile, in a steamy prison shower room, Rusty Spokes was lathering up. Rusty is now alive, he came back to life because of a black magic voodoo curse from a witch in New Orleans in between paragraphs. This willowy-ass white boy is looking around. Massive horde of real big, real muscular, real well-endowed men of an ethnic sort are all around him.
He barely reached up to their waists, which is the perfect height for something.
And then it happened.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
The soap flowed towards the drain.
"Yeah, baby, yeah!" someone went.
"Somethin' dropped!"
"It wasn't his balls!"
Rusty's eyes went full wild take as he tried to use them to pick up the soap.
"Soap dropped, nigga."
He looked back.
"Aw you think you just finna leave it down there? Huh? We don't waste no muthafuckin soap in here."
"I-I'm finished," Rusty stammered, trying to edge away.
The Health Inspector didn't take his eyes off Rusty's as his ultra-deep voice went, "Naw, naw nigga, you ain't finished. I been watchin' you."
"You have?!"
"You ain't wash behind your ears or nuthin'. Look at me. See how I'm all clean and glistenin' and shit. Better hygeine, nigga. You can call me the Health Inspector."
Rusty took a good long look at his manhood, which picked up the soap for him.
"NOW PICK UP THE SOAP."
But it already picked up the soap?!
Rusty then jumped up, gasping and panting. Thank god, he was just in his prison cot, sleeping next to a psychotic killer. He decided to cuddle with him, throwing his legs around the bloodshot-eyed madman.
In the prison yard, Clyde was busy pumping iron. His once scrawny frame had transformed into a chiseled work of art. Veins bulged as he curled a dumbbell, his biceps straining against his orange jumpsuit.
"Lucy Loud," he growled between reps. "Your days are numbered. The Third Street Ain'ts are coming for you."
Nearby, Ronnie Anne was holding court with a group of hardened inmates. Her arms were now covered in intricate tattoos, and she'd adopted the swagger of a true chola.
"Listen up, pendejas," she barked. "This is our turf now. Anyone got a problem with that, they can catch these hands."
To demonstrate her point, she decked a nearby inmate, sending him sprawling. The others nodded in respect, recognizing their new leader.
As night fell on the prison, Clyde gathered his gang in their cell. "Alright, Ain'ts," he whispered. "We're busting out of this joint. And when we do, Royal Woods won't know what hit 'em."
Zach adjusted his glasses nervously. "But how, Clyde? This place is locked up tighter than Lisa's lab."
Clyde's grin was pure evil. "Don't worry about that. I got a plan that's gonna make 'The Shawshank Redemption' look like a walk in the park."
As the gang huddled closer, Clyde began to outline his insane escape plan. Little did they know, their actions were about to set in motion a chain of events that would shake Royal Woods to its very core.
Outside the prison walls, a figure watched from the shadows. Lucy Loud, still plagued by her intestinal issues, narrowed her eyes. "Sigh," she muttered. "It seems Ronnie Anne is here. Well, I'll have to wait until she's released to make my plea for forgiveness and atonement I suppose." She kicked around a rock and set her fists on her hips. "What to do until then..."
*CLRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGCGGRAAAAAFFFP*
*CLRLRRBBRSHH*
Lucy felt it hit hard, tidal waves inside heading down.
*Clrggrgrgrgh*
And rushed to find the nearest bathroom, but she was in the outskirts of a prison yard, so she had to break into the prison and bust into the nearest bathroom before it exploded SPLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH, and kept going on and on before ceasing as a squeaky trickly fade out
And while she's trying to finish up, the police surround her.
"Freeze!"
"Privacy, dude! Privacy! I already have to deal with this monstrous author humiliating me every chapter."
"Tell it to the judge."
SLAM, goes the gavel against the court desk, as a wig-haired judge with a thousand-year-old face and a thunderous scowl looks at the 8-year-old defendant. "Get this guilty bitch out of here! You people make me sick! Turn this fucking. Shit. OFF!" SLAM! He went before Lucy could even sit down, and a hook pulled her out of the court room and into a prison cell.
Lincoln Loud stood before 1216 Franklin Avenue, his eyes misty with emotion. The weight of his actions crashed down upon him like a ton of bricks. He had abandoned his family, traded their love for a life of luxury and excess in his orbital mansion. Now, faced with the familiar sight of his childhood home, regret consumed him.
The hazy sunshine of late afternoon bathed the street in a warm, golden glow. Long shadows stretched across the pavement, cast by trees that stood like dark silhouettes against the deepening sky. As the golden hour began to fade into the blue hour, the Belt of Venus painted the eastern horizon in soft pinks and purples.
Cicadas buzzed their evening song, their chorus punctuated by the occasional chirp of an early bird settling in for the night and the tingly drone of crickets as well as the passing car on the road. Fireflies began to emerge, their gentle bioluminescence dotting the air with fleeting points of light. Above, Venus shone brightly, accompanied by a few early stars peeking through the darkening twilight veil.
The familiar sights and sounds of a Royal Woods evening enveloped Lincoln, intensifying the bittersweet ache in his heart as he confronted the consequences of his choices. The evening felt like defeat and regret. There stood the home he used to call his own. There was the tire he used to swing on. There was the neighborhood he used to own.
"What have I done?" he whispered, his voice trembling. He fell to his knees, the manicured lawn cushioning his fall. "NOOOOOO!" he wailed, his anguish echoing through the neighborhood.
Suddenly, the front door of 1216 burst open. The new neighbor, eyes wild and twitching, brandished a gleaming machete. "Tails!" he shrieked, charging towards Lincoln with murderous intent.
Before Lincoln could react, a chorus of familiar voices called out from next door. "Lincoln! You're back!"
He turned to see his family waving enthusiastically from Mr. Grouse's house. Without a second thought, Lincoln sprinted towards them, narrowly avoiding the psycho's wild machete swings.
As he reached the porch, his family enveloped him in a warm group hug. Luan ruffled his hair, Lynn gave him a playful punch on the arm, and Lynn Sr and Rita opened their arms to welcome their son back into their lives.
"But... why are you in Mr. Grouse's house?" Lincoln asked, confusion momentarily overriding his joy.
Lori's face turned serious. "We don't talk about Mr. Grouse anymore," she said flatly.
Before Lincoln could press further, he was swept up in another round of hugs and affectionate noogies. The air was filled with laughter and excited chatter as the Loud family celebrated their reunion.
"Oh, Linky!" Leni squealed, squeezing him tight. "We missed you so much!"
"Yeah, bro," Luna added, strumming a celebratory chord on her guitar. "The house wasn't the same without you." And like that, she decided to strum the opening chords to the Loud House theme song to kick off a celebration.
As the family continued their joyous reunion, the psycho neighbor stood on the sidewalk, machete hanging limply at his side. He watched the scene with a mix of confusion and envy before shuffling back to his own house, muttering about rigged coin tosses.
Inside Mr. Grouse's... er, the Loud's new home, the family settled into the living room. Lincoln found himself sandwiched between Lynn and Lola on the couch, with Lily happily perched on his lap.
"So, tell us all about your adventures!" Lynn Sr. urged, his face beaming with pride.
As Lincoln began recounting his time in the orbital mansion, he felt a warmth spreading through his chest. This was where he belonged. Not in some cold, sterile space palace, but here, surrounded by the chaos and love of his family.
The psycho neighbor peered through his window, watching the heartwarming scene next door. He sighed heavily, resting his hockey-mask-clad face on his hands with a kawaii blush as he decided to take his carnage elsewhere.
As night fell on Franklin Avenue, the Loud house (formerly known as the Grouse house) glowed with warmth and laughter. Lincoln, nestled among his sisters in a massive blanket fort, felt truly at home for the first time in ages.
And if anyone noticed the faint sounds of digging coming from down the street, well, they chose not to mention it. After all, in the Loud family, some secrets were best left buried.
Also, BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP went Lana, but that's just Lana and her favorite new pet, Tootie. Oh Lana!
Iris in!