Sins In Twisters

by Blonkess

When Lincoln was destined to never have success like his family, after surviving the Royal Woods' Tornado, his future takes him on the path of becoming a renowned storm chaser. But as years pass since that day, his family tries to hold together after freak disasters put a halt to the sisters' lives when Lisa discovers a past family secret that tells Lincoln's time is running out.

26. Can't Run If You Don't Know Where To Go

Sins In Twisters

Chapter 26: Can't Run If You Don't Know Where To Go

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Note: Given this chapter's size and my personal desire to stay closer to 10k words, I know people often don't want to read a whole 10k plus chapter in one sitting and feel it's overbearing, so should I reduce the size (basically split them up even more) down closer to 6-7k a piece?

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For being the middle child of a family of 13, every day had its own chaotic routine that would go as clockwork until some little thing would be the wrench in the gears.

For years, it built up with each new family member: wake up, hope that the bathroom line hasn't completely formed, and get stuck in the back with the prayer that there was an ounce of hot water left. Have breakfast and go about the day, depending on whether there was school or what plans everyone in the family had that day.

The normal dynamics of a normal family.

Lincoln knew that the dynamics and normalcy of his family were not what would fall under the term 'normal.' A simple day in his books did not involve any chaos that resulted in screaming, a race to claim the sweet spot, or being stuck on heavy chore duty. Spend the usual hours at school, meet up or talk to his best friend, or hang out with Ronnie Anne or his buddies. End the day with family dinner and homework to leave him with an afternoon to be in peace…

It started out just like that, trying to find peace.

Being the Man with a Plan, he would do whatever it took to create a plan to achieve his end goal for the day. Sometimes, it backfired; sometimes, it succeeded all according to plan; sometimes, it got hijacked and exploited by others, or it benefited all parties. Sometimes, these very plans caused that wrench to get tossed, to begin with, and while at times he would sit back to let it sort itself out, he knew he couldn't just stand idly and watch things become torn apart. It just wasn't in his nature, and day by day, if something happened and affected the ones he cared about and loved, he'd find a way to solve it.

But could you really blame someone wanting a little peace?

Living in a house where the double standard was the norm for being the only brother smack dab in the middle of it all, he thanked the universe he was at least built to handle the insane level of multitasking he'd find himself in. He had voiced that he could only do so much, yet the hive mind of the Loud House was something not just a single person would be able to crack through if they were already set on something.

But he should have felt it.

Sensing the disturbance in the Force, the changing winds that brought a kind of cold to the air made you feel ice upon your skin and begged you to wonder just where it had come from.

Living in this kind of house, as the middle child and only brother, you can pick up many things. Who's coming up the stairs based on urgency, who's outside in the garage, whose cry of angst that he would have to remove himself from his domain, investigate, and probably have to fix.

He heard movement out in the hallway, and kicking down his door, Lynn Loud Jr. popped in, ready to take on the enemy softball team that day. Despite suggesting other reasons why he shouldn't or didn't need to go, his sister wouldn't let it be.

It was like every god in the world had stopped what they were doing to grab some popcorn and pull up a seat to watch. That cold feeling wasn't just the weather from winter lingering around, ready for spring; it felt like a storm was coming, and only he could feel it. The game went on like usual, but it wasn't normal. Instead of complete destruction, their team barely held ground against the enemy, and Lynn was prepared to send home that one ball that would secure salvation.

In less than 30 seconds, it felt like there was a pressure that couldn't decide to implode or explode.

All it would take was that little spark to set it all off, and his sister was that burning force to ignite it.

Three words.

It's a small number to use, but with just three, you or anyone could create the biggest impact on everyone's lives. In this case, anyone could say it was the heat of the moment, but those words acted like poison to the well. The first week started normal but became so much out of their own normal. While he didn't take it full to heart, he did plan to use his newly 'gifted' peace.

Don't get him wrong; he'd still offer help when it was badly needed, but each time he found out that his family needed some assistance, his sisters would push him away out of not jealousy or spite but fear.

The second week was when he felt the storm clouds over his head. Blocking out the light of reason to get through his family's minds as things started changing in ways that were not to be. It started small, banned from tending things like pageants or games, but then became forced to eat in a separate room. The family leaves him behind to partake in a fun night, with a bedroom becoming boarded up.

The first night spent sleeping outside…

Call it the moment the rain started falling; call it the moment that this should have been put to a stop and common sense knocked into their minds. He knew that the lie had reached the point in its life that it was becoming a greater evil than it should have been. He admitted it was a lie to grant him that freedom, but he should have remembered how his family thinks.

Chances to see reason, get through them, and see that this wasn't what it was supposed to be. All fell on deaf ears, with only the tiniest of cracks forming when he got through to a few of those that it would get to but be drowned out. It was his mistake to let it get this far. Still, in times of desperation, the creativity of the human mind can often come up with wild ideas that could either fail horribly or succeed beyond imagination.

The one choice that he thought could rectify this whole situation was to prove his family was wrong about him, that he wasn't such a cursed child they had all believed him to be. One had to ask, "Did you really steal a three thousand-dollar squirrel suit to prove a point?" And his answer would have been, "Yes, but more like borrowing for the moment to prove my point." When it came time to put his plan to the ultimate test, it felt like; for a brief moment, the storm had lost its power. That there was light finally coming through.

He remembered that day, swing one, miss. Swing two, miss. It felt like the universe was teasing him at this point.

But he didn't think that when that third swing of the bat connected, it would just be the next part of the maelstrom.

When he revealed to her that he was there for her, much to all of his family's surprise, he told them that his being here hadn't made her lose. Sometimes, things happen, and you have to see it through. Not everything is based on luck. He hoped that would finally put this all to rest and that they could go back to a more normal life as a family…

Under one rule: never take off the suit.

Three weeks later, he felt like he was living his own personal hell. Dehumanizing would probably be the word that could sum up everything when looking at the bigger picture. Yet, it is borderline the threshold from outright slavery to caring at a minimum.

He was allowed back in the house to eat at the table and go with the family on trips wherever they may go. But the suit remained. He could only remove it in his room or bathroom, at best. If it needed repairing, they would go after fixing it like it was a radiation leak. Even at school, he had to be careful to take it off and store it so that he wouldn't be stuck walking around in it all day and be caught by Lynn or Lucy. He had to walk home even during some cold or rainy days in it just so that his family didn't realize he wasn't wearing their 'good luck charm' at all times.

Though it did storm in those days, it felt so much different than when this situation first started. This wasn't the same approaching storm he had felt before, yet the rainstorm above him felt like something else.

He couldn't remember where he had seen it—browsing the internet at night, maybe—but it was a video game trailer about a prisoner who was let go after serving his time, yet bolted into a power suit and forced to go off to war and continue his sentence. He wore his prison to gain his freedom.

But he couldn't deny there were some times that this torture device didn't have some use to his favor.

So long as his family wasn't near, he didn't bother keeping it on. He kept it tucked in a spot out of sight from anyone who didn't try hard enough to look and within reach if any of his sisters suddenly appeared, and he had time to scurry away to suit up. Despite his first unfortunate interaction with a pack of dogs that saw him as a glorified chew toy, he saw that with the extra bulk, the suit protected him to a degree he was sure to have an arm or leg missing had he not it.

And even when he had to take it off at home when it was required to be cleaned or fixed, he used that time to do what he could for himself. In those few weeks, he had become a bit paler and lost some weight from wearing that suit. Sometimes in life, if the world keeps giving you hell for long enough, you can plan to use that to your advantage.

And now here he was, approaching the middle of week seven. Warmer weather was coming, and being the walking 'Good Luck Charm,' his family saw it more fit to run around to places of importance that needed that little extra luck they believed in. While the last few weeks had been spotted, this one had been like everything had exploded simultaneously.

He was feeling more drained than ever before. If you looked at him now and told a person that there was a human inside there, the best comparison they would think of was that he was a rejected idea from something like Five Nights at Freddy's. Laying against the wall between the front door and living room window, the mask discarded off to the side as he rested there, listening to the rainstorm surrounding his house and town like it had many times before.

He could go inside, "Just put the mask back on."

Only he didn't care right now. He knew he'd have to be later to go back inside to bed, but knowing his family, they'd drag him back in and force it on when they had to go somewhere in the morning.

Right now, he didn't care. If this suit became his tomb, he would make the best of it.

Sitting out on the porch, listening to the rain, it was peaceful for a time. He closed his eyes, felt the calm winds on his paling face and through his hair, and focused on the sounds that weren't the chaos from inside.

But in time, that peace turned into a nuisance.

The wind itself was doing a great job at turning it enough that it was falling sideways at times from strong gusts; even with bits of quarter-sized hail falling at times, he quickly dawned some form of protection. The suit had been through a lot, but it wasn't meant to be blasted by nature's version of a high-pressure car wash. As the winds and hail faded after its bombardment, he could feel the suit gaining another 50 pounds of rainwater alone.

The fur was quickly becoming matted, the eye lenses fogging over each time he exhaled, the straps inside were starting to become irritating from the constant movement of wet velcro, and the material that thing was made out of was becoming more waterlogged by the minute.

A blast of wind came down the street as he tried to stand up. Knocking him over hard enough to send him toppling to the opposite side. Smashing the back of the mask into the railing hard enough, he could feel the support give out till he was nearly lying flat on the floorboards.

He tried standing back up to stop himself from being stuck like a turtle with more water than all of California soaking into his clothes underneath. His head felt like it was struck as a poorly tuned bell, but he couldn't hear his thoughts as the wind kept bombarding the house.

The most he could hear were the sounds of trees groaning and snapping branches, the wind pelleting everything like rocks, and the growing volume of…. Someone speaking. It was more like explaining, but the mask and wall made it too hard for him to hear anything clear. For a brief second, he thought he saw someone stick their head by the living room, looking around, but as the lights went out, he could see who it was before they pulled back.

In his haste to stand back up, he could hear the sound of a dozen pounding sets of feet running through the house. He could see the faint outlines of shapes running into the kitchen and something slamming, and much to his relief, it seemed mother nature felt a little bit compassionate when the wind died out some so the rain wasn't going sideways.

Frustrated, he ripped away at the straps that held the gloves to the suit, tossing one away and practically tearing apart the other to get a better grip and pull himself up. Looking into the house, there was no light, noise, or sign of anyone.

He stood up, trying for the door knob until, in a single twist, the cursed object decided to slide out of the slot. Cursing as he tossed it away, he pounded on the door, hoping someone would let him in or it would loosen enough to wedge a hand through. He called his parents, any sisters, even Cliff to get them near, yet all he in the back of his mind, it was like a voice was telling him something he couldn't hear with the drowning sound of sirens everywhere…

'Sirens?'

Why would- those weren't just the echoing sounds of something like a fire or police vehicles but the Detriot emergency sirens. He had only heard them go off once, maybe twice in his whole life.

But this storm… all the rain, the hail, the dark green that filled the sky, the shifting winds, the-

'The shifting winds?...!'

Whatever tiredness that plagued his body suddenly evaporated when all the dots in his mind connected as a deafening roar began to match the siren's wails.

Any fatigue or tiredness vanished. The weight of the suit was unnoticeable as he leaped to his feet. Nearly tripping down the stairs from the oversized feet, he watched the rain and wind blowing towards the neighbor's houses across the street so thick he could barely see its roof anymore. But beyond that, he could see utter darkness mixed with hues of greens and grays, but through the dense haze that didn't let him see the sky, he could barely make out something moving high above like a monster was hiding right in front of him.

He had never thought he would see one in real life. He had seen plenty on TV, in movies, in presentations at school, and sometimes on the news. But never in his life did he think he would be seeing one. Here, in his town, right on his front doorstep. The narrow, slender shape that looked like a ghost was taking shape before his eyes. He could see the top- *CRACK*

A lightning bolt struck behind, illuminating it from the back enough to show the chaos that the lower part connected to the earth. The blast of thunder was strong enough to send him to the ground harder than the wind; it made his ears ring even harder than before.

Yet it was during that blast that pushed him onto his hands and knees; he heard a voice- no, voices, like a whole crowd, was yelling at him.

Yelling for him to run...

'RUN.'

Digging his shoes into the sidewalk, he put every ounce of power into his legs. The last four weeks had given him that strength to outrun stray dogs or Chandler and his goons. He booked it fast enough that he was sure Lynn would have been surprised.

Rounding the side of the house, his momentum was almost completely lost as he was instantly hit by the force of the winds blowing from the backside. The bombardment from early felt like paintballs compared to ice-filled water balloons. Trying to shield himself with his hands, he could barely see much of anything in front of him through the eye holes as he tried leaning forward, trying to counteract the push against the winds…

…feeling his feet suddenly get sucked down into something and falling face first into a mud puddle.

Feeling the front of the mask cave in, he could get the faint taste of mud seeping through the suit in so many places he tried kicking free to get out. He had forgotten Lana was using this patch of land to make a mud pit that would later be big enough to trap Vanzilla. And it was doing a perfect job trapping him.

Fighting the suction, he rolled to the side enough to raise his hands and remove the mask. He felt the straps break away and wincing as the harness pulled some of his hair with it. He started ripping off everything he could, trying to crawl forward. Digging his muddy hands into every crevice he could reach, he felt the material breaking away in chunks and cutting away at his fingers.

With each cut and sting, he crawled closer to solid grass with every inch he gained, kicking away the remains back towards the pit like some mutant had died trying to escape it.

Once he could stand back up, wiping his mud and blood-covered hands on his orange shirt and feeling the winds not hitting him as much without all the extra bulk, he looked at what remained of the squirrel suit. Covered in mud, half buried, mask to the side, half sunk with the arms and chest ripped open with the mud matting the fur.

It did look like he had escaped some creature that had failed to consume him. And like casting away something like a parasite, he turned away, hoping it could rot away where it lay.

Out of his prison, his focus turned back to one of the places he knew he had a chance to ride out the storm. If his family was taking shelter in the basement or the bunker, he didn't know. The winds felt even worse as he approached the backyard, hitting the back wall and being forced around the sides. He could hear someone yelling but faintly saw a shape or two around the bunker's hatch, trying to climb inside, yet one stayed out.

He cried out for them to wait. That he was coming, he could see his dad and possibly Lisa by the hatch turn towards him, he could here them, mostly his dad cry out his name. Not caring that he was without the suit, he ran towards his only son with arms stretched out, ready to grab him.

But as he reached out to grab his father, he watched the tree line behind their yards folding inward. The winds snapped off branches in mass, with chunks flying overhead until the sudden roar of cracking timber made them pause and watch as one of the more giant trees started tipping towards the house.

Roots ripped from the ground in vain to keep it anchored, and both had seconds to jump clear before it came crashing across the yard. His dad had the hatch smashed closed behind it as it collapsed on the bunker; the topmost portion impacted the house. He saw the windows to Luna and Luan's and Lynn and Lucy's rooms be hit, but the window to his parent's room and the backdoor with the little overhang took the brunt as it smashed into the wall.

Picking himself off the ground, Lincoln stared in shock at how his one route to the shelter was blocked, and the other had something impossible for him to move, sitting on the only access to it.

He thought through everything he could think of for shelter. The garage was worthless, and the bunker was useless. He was too short to reach any windows alongside the house, but the basement was still something he could break into. He knew that the latter idea would result in either him getting one hell of shoulder pain later or possibly being in big trouble for breaking a window, but with a twister coming, he couldn't care less about that.

He scrambled to his feet, racing past the mud pit with the wind pushing his back like being caught up in a mob he couldn't escape. But coming back to the front of the house, leaping up the stairs to the front door, he looked back to see just how close the storm was.

He wished he didn't.

He could see it now just glancing over his shoulder for less than a second. Not hidden by rain or mist or what have you; he could see the entire thing now. He could see the sky above him twisting like an angry gray blob and narrowing down into the top of the white funnel with a bend to its shape halfway down, with the bottom half becoming a more sickly brown. He could see debris flying all around it. In the blink of an eye, he was sure he had just seen a tree get yanked up into the air and tossed aside. A whole roof suddenly being ripped off as one before disintegrating into matchwood.

He felt himself take a step back. He tried to think this was just some kind of dream that was becoming too real for his taste. But he could feel the wind blowing from behind him. The rains moved across the street towards the vortex as it got closer. And the roar… he could hear a roar like it was a living monster from his movies. Marching its way through the town, not caring what stood in its path.

But as fear coursed through his body, the feeling of utter awe overpowered it. It was right there, like a devil staring over him. He felt something hit him more than lightning, and his brain rebooted for a split second to realize he was running out of time.

He turned around, ready to put his unorthodox plan into motion, rearing up and ready to possibly break his shoulder to get back inside.

Yet, in the few steps he would have taken to build up some speed, he felt himself being dragged backward. He put everything into trying to keep standing. Grabbing onto the railing as his hands slipped away, and he was dragged across the yard, down the sidewalk, trying to claw at anything to keep himself from being pulled towards imminent death.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and focused on not letting go.

And then… it let go.

He felt the pull slacken and disappear. At any second, his feet would be dangling in the air, weightless. He had decided it wasn't worth the time and let them drop to the ground. Having the air feel like it was sucked out of him, he took in several deep breaths as he slowly pulled himself back up.

But a lingering feeling filled his mind. The feeling you get when you know that should you turn around, look up from the ground, that something you would regret doing that action will lead to disaster. But should you not look, often by seeing said unfortunate event be present either by a shadow or reflection or if someone else was present, the absolute look of horror on their face is enough to say it.

Right now, Lincoln felt himself in that position: either keep your head down from seeing what you really didn't wanna see but know is there or turn around and stare the monster in the face.

He could not resist.

It was like staring up at a god standing right before anyone, non-believer or not, that something so inhuman could exist on this planet at the same time.

And the beast was staring right back. Something that never in his whole life did anything else make his blood run so cold, all thoughts ceasing and his heart feeling like it was trying to figure out a rhythm to beat to.

It had to be maybe a dozen feet away from him. Standing in the middle of the street, disappearing into the heavens but so small on the ground, he could imagine if he stretched his arms out, it would just be wide enough to hide him inside it. He couldn't see debris or even dirt spinning inside. Hovering higher above, out of reach, being spewed out, or getting pulled back in to disappear again. Even what looked like extremely tiny tornadoes that he could hold in the palm of his hand ripped away the top portions of the pavement.

And it just stood there, in that one spot, not moving back, to the left or right. Despite its twisting mass, it stayed in its one spot like nature had demanded it go no further.

He had no idea what to do. What could he do? It was like staring at a monster straight in the eyes. A beast that he knew would act far faster than he could try to react to if he made an action to flee.

Turn and run? He might be fast, but a flying two-by-four aimed at the back of his head was faster. Hold onto the mailbox? Might as well see what bills his dad would be missing a couple hundred feet up. Duck and cover in the yard? This thing was tearing into the street with chunks of asphalt already missing.

He was at its mercy. The predator knew that its prey couldn't run or fight. When facing what could be their doom, the chance of seeing what could happen afterward is practically a single digit to nothing.

Yet it felt too peaceful.

He could hear it, but it didn't roar. He could feel the tiniest of changes in the wind as he got back to his feet, but it didn't push him away or pull him closer. Like nature was waiting for him to make the next move.

In a fleeting thought that debated whether it was worth it, he pulled out his phone and went into camera mode. If in, any second, he was about to be taken away, and someone found it, at least then they'd know he went out in the wildest ways. People often tried recording either video or audio of what was going to be their last moments on Earth. To let those who discovered that recording later down the line after that person was gone know what their last moments were like.

But standing within literal touching distance of something that he had seen make whole trees go flying and consume houses to the foundation, he couldn't look away. Not realizing it, he slowly lifted his hand as if to reach out and touch the wind. He looked down towards the vortex on the ground, slowly up towards where it connected to the sky, and then back down.

He did not close his eyes and waited for his feet to no longer touch the planet.

He didn't know what he felt. It felt like the complete opposite of what he should be feeling. The best way he could only describe it was that by staring at the twister, he didn't feel… afraid. Despite everything that could go wrong, his hand stretch out to where it could be shredded, even though he was blinking, he was staring straight into the aybss waiting for whatever it had for him.

He felt the abyss was the one to blink first, and the storm showed him its reaction.

Like a demon from an intense exorcism, rising in the air screaming in agony after having its powers stripped and hold on the world lost, the vortex started to lose its shape. The middle began to become knotted like a string spun around so much that it started to knot itself and tear apart. Disconnecting from the portion still in the sky, the funnel slowly faded into the clouds. Whatever had managed to stay contained inside itself, having now been let go to fall back to earth.

In literally a second, it was gone just like that.

As the rain began to pick up again, Lincoln made no sign to move from his spot. Rooted in place as the mud and grim washed away, he stood staring up to the sky as his phone lowered to his side. If the storm had wanted to drop another, he would have been the very first person to know it. But the storm didn't see that need. The churning sky faded away until the rains from afar quickly caught up to shield his vision from the dark clouds.

Slowly, feeling the nerves through his body, he began to lose the boost of adrenaline, so he turned back towards his home. Not looking to see how, at most, it was just missing some roof shingles or items scattered about but practically left in their place untouched, he came up the first step but could feel his energy being sapped so quickly he could go further.

Spinning around to sit on the boards and rest his head against the railing, he tried closing his eyes, telling his body to power down for a moment, and trying to get some energy back in his veins. But the storm inside his mind was like a tiny nation trying to voice its opinion at a United Nations summit.

Opening his eyes enough to keep staying awake, he immediately focused on where his neighbor's house was across the street.

Where a lovely two-story home once existed, you couldn't call it two-story anymore.

Thinking now, with how much he and the family complained about all the issues with their house and a storm like that, he wouldn't have been surprised if it hadn't been taken out before the tornado arrived. The place wasn't the greatest, but not to the degree you'd think it hadn't just been ten seconds away from being flattened.

He chuckled. Feeling how utterly lucky he was. How fortunate they all were. Maybe he could convince them that without the suit, he spared their home, but that idea became obscured as more and more other thoughts began to try to fill in the empty holes in his mind.

He didn't know what to think anymore as he felt the rain wash over his exhausted form and welcomed the embrace of sleep, hoping for dreams of future times...

How the rest of that week went, all he could remember was a blur yet barely moving at all. How long did he pass out there until he got carried into the house by someone he didn't know? Only it was nearly night when he did wake up on the couch bandaged and covered in blankets.

The morning after wasn't as awkward but more tense than ever. He ate alone by his own choice until he asked his parents a request that, at first, they were fully willing to do, but when it came to who it involved, they hesitated.

He needed to get out of here. Go somewhere to help clear his mind for a time. Get away from the place that he didn't know if his heart had the strength to stay anymore. As much as he would have preferred going to his Pop Pop's place for a while, it felt too close. Sure, he'd absolutely love to be with him, someone that was just on the otherside of town that he knew would be there for him.

But being so close to here didn't feel right. It wasn't the greatest plan. It was more of a cowardly plan, really. But was it really the coward's way to realize that staying with the problem when you don't know how to solve it? It was sometimes better to leave it alone and come back with a clearer head.

So when his Grandpa Leonard came, he brought with him his own storm.

The details were vague, but his parents told him of what he wanted to do. At first, he was all for it: some nice time with the boy that his son was proud to have raised.

Then came the storm…

He took his father out back for some 'father and son talk' that punched through the walls with the power of what years of being a sailor could build up. The door and walls doing very little to shield those in the houses around them from his voice. His mother cried, and he felt terrible, but he was just too out of it. But he knew those all upstairs, either watching it from their windows or hearing it through the walls, and knew all too well what it meant.

It took him a moment to return and agree to go that very day. He remembered going up to his boarded… unboarded bedroom and taking his backpack with whatever clothes he could get to last. He followed his grandpa to his truck with his parents and was asked if he was ready and sure of this.

Truthfully, he wasn't.

But tossing his bag in the back and hopping into the front seat, he didn't say anything more. It was at that time he posted that video, wondering if anyone would think he was dead if they didn't see him around town for a while. He remembered peering at his house as the truck went forward.

His parents standing there, defeated. His sisters gathered on the porch, faces red from tears.

It was out of sight faster than he could remember each of their faces…

But the damage done, he felt, wasn't comparable to the destruction they passed on the way out of town.

Face close up to the window, eyes darting all over the rows of homes that he once passed from time to time, now piles of brick, wood, and the livelihoods that people had spent years earning, building, and enjoying, now scattered about either from being knocked onto the floor, in a tree around the corner, or possibly never to be seen again.

The street they were on was just a tiny part of the path; at most, he could see seven houses having vast amounts of damage, while those beyond only had more negligible casualties. He knew the direction he was looking down was the path the tornado had taken through the town.

He was lucky…

Had it been bigger, as wide as it was when chewing through these homes, and not the tiny drill bit it had presented to him, he knew he wouldn't be here. He'd be long gone, probably sucked up when he turned around and saw the funnel just moments before the house would have been flattened.

What could he have done? He was just a boy. What was he against the wrath of god sending down a twisting form of hell on earth? His family was lucky to have dodged that bullet, and it ended practically right in front of his house.

He didn't bother to keep track of how long he watched his town fade in the mirror. One day, he'd have to go back; he had to. It was where everything he remembered, good and bad, was and where it felt like home.

Yet it felt like the universe was taunting him.

There was another storm off to their west. It was not like a blanket of dark clouds slowly rolling across the land but a growing mass that one could actively see growing with the distant sound of thunder. It told him that no matter where he went, the dark clouds of reality hung over him. He tried to look away at anything other than the sky but failed miserably when he felt his eyes drift back up.

Flashes of lightning were hidden deep inside, appearing only as soft pulses of light that broke through the darkness for a second before flashing off somewhere else just as fast.

It reminded him of an action movie…

Yeah… Like in Ace Savvy.

The churning clouds that, for a moment, he pictured as the angry forms of the horde of his enemies merged into a shapeless blob staring down upon him like a hungry monster. He could see it; each time, a flash of light inside was Ace flying around, using his super strength to fight against the storm. Each flash was his power colliding with his foe as thunder was the sound of him delivering a painful justice against the evil force terrorizing the land.

For a brief second, a flash of lightning eclipsed the sun. And a deafening boom like a thousand bombs going off at once shook the land.

Faster than a flash, almost missed in the blink of an eye, he saw how the dark sky ahead blackened out the blue from behind. How the sun above, shining bright, disappeared in a crack of blue and white like God had just slain the star. The land was beginning to darken, the clouds overhead expanding over them as he gazed up to see a towering anvil high above them with a roll of thunder somewhere within.

It was the storm trying to fight Ace. Showing its incredible power, it swatted the hero away like a buzzing fly.

But Ace Savvy would never give up.

He had faced countless foes who claimed to be unmatchable to his powers. Even without his partner or comrades, he stood there hovering in the air; his cape fluttered in the heavy winds, torn to shreds, his face wet from rain, and his suit battered and bleeding.

Yet he stood there in defiance.

Beaten down like never before by an enemy beyond his own power, if the land was calling, crying out to him to end his fight before he was consumed into the darkness forever. But it was a call he could not answer. To turn his back on the storm and let it consume the land and the defenseless people in the path who stood no chance of survival if he turned away now. No, that wasn't what a hero does. A hero is when someone is ready to give their life to save another in their time of need.

And if this were to be his final battle, not against a horde of united villains or his arch nemesis, but a force that had caused millions and millions to suffer for so long, then he'd make sure that after this day, the land will never have to fear again. Others will follow in his footsteps in the future. Learn from what happened on this day as a lesson to both those on the side of good and evil, that no matter the consequences that may have fallen upon them, a real hero will never give in to defeat when lives are on the line.

Did he feel fear of what may happen?

Most likely, he did feel it. An emotion that anyone would have as the magnet in their brain pleading for them to fly away to live another day. But there was a difference between acting on impulse and rational thinking. One let the fear consume them; the other let its voice be known but chose to act upon it willingly, and Ace knew what he had to do.

Like many heroes worldwide, like Jack facing down the Kraken, Mifune against the swarm of Sentinels, or Russell flying up to the point of no return to destroy the alien saucer, Ace gave out one last smile and launched forward.

A lightning bolt cut across his path, but he didn't deviate from his direction. With a deafening roar that matched that of thunder, Ace plunged into the heart of the storm. At the mere last second, anyone in the world would see the last glimpse of the hero…

Lincoln watched on until the rain began to overtake them. Droplets fell one by one before the window began soaking, and the sound of each drop hitting the car filled the senses. The sunlight slowly disappeared completely behind the haze and clouds, as soft yellow and gray were all that gave the land light.

But there was no thunder. No lightning or wind. Just the steady fall of rain.

A hero was lost, but the hero had won.

Lincoln kept that image in his mind as he slowly leaned back into the seat. His mind felt like he was now at the part of an epic movie where people would celebrate and mourn the events that had come and gone when both sides would sit back and see the change to the world that one man's actions had done for everyone.

Lincoln knew he couldn't live up to the likes of Ace. He was a man who had done so much that compared to the 11-year-old, he paled beyond comparison. But that didn't mean, and like others in the future that would follow, he could too.

"...incoln…"

He didn't know what it was exactly. It felt like when he thought over a situation and realized the clearest answer or outcome. He felt that feeling within him again, far stronger than anything he had felt before…

"Linc…."

…he saw what he could do to build a future.

"Lincoln!"

His eyes were so out of focus that the moment he snapped out of his daze, his brain completely rebooted, trying to figure out what he was doing.

Realizing he was behind the wheel of a car in motion on the highway in the rain made him tense up, grabbing the wheel. Jolting it hard, he tried to focus on not colliding with any cars nearby.

"You okay, dear?" the voice asked.

"Yeah..." he replied, feeling exhausted. "Yeah, sorry. I kind of just… zoned out there for a moment." He rubbed his eyes, feeling something still didn't feel right.

But why was he driving? He didn't remember when he got in the seat or how long he had been driving. All he remembered was… what?

Where was he last? He was at home… no… he wasn't. He was somewhere far away from anyone. From everyone. There was a storm, it was dark, and all he remembered was driving and suddenly stopping…

"Hopefully, you'll feel better once we get back," the voice said tenderly.

Looking over to address them, he saw… who was this?

He saw someone familiar, yet a stranger. The hair went everywhere, from short to long and in different styles, from blondes to browns to blacks and even whites. The clothes were like he was witnessing the physical embodiment of an acid trip. A dress became shorts; a t-shirt became a raincoat—like a mix-and-match puzzle stuck on a loop.

And that voice. It was like someone different had spoken each word themselves but overlapped by a dozen more. He heard so many familiar sounds that he was listening to something new.

"Maybe we can get him a brain scan at the mall." Another voice retorted behind him.

Looking in the rearview like he was about to scold the speaker, he realized where he was. He was driving a van, and it felt a lot like Vanzilla—the way the seat was, the rattling exhaust, and the smells from the aged carpet. But it felt… too new. It was old, but feeling the wheel didn't make sense…

He was forced out of his daze again when, all of a sudden, the doors opened. He tried looking back in the mirror, but everyone in the back was already piling out. The woman was already walking away too far for him to see through the wet windows. Looking over his shoulder, he tried to see out his window, but his rapid breathing was making it too foggy. He tried wiping it with his hand, but they were getting too far away.

With all the force he could, he shouldered the door. He beat on the window and tried pulling open the lever to get it open. With the luck of his thumb flicking the lock, the door swung out faster than he could react, and even with the seatbelt, he went tumbling out. Caught off guard from his exit, he barely had a second to brace himself from hitting his head against the wet parking lot.

Groaning, he slowly started to stand back up. Feeling the rain beginning to soak his clothes, he looked around to see where his family had gone. He barely saw a small crowd entering a mall before the automatic doors closed behind them.

Feeling like a little wagon being pulled in separate directions by two trains, he stood up and leaned against the van. Feeling the rain slowly ease up as it came down on his face, he gazed high above into the storm itself. For a typical little thunderstorm, it was somehow more impressive than the storm he saw on that trip to the camp.

As the rain shaft cleared away, he had a perfect view of the storm's structure. The sunlight in the distance gave such a beautiful sight with the glow it radiated off the grassy fields that contrasted the aurora of blues and greens, making it feel like he was sitting in front of a mythical ocean as clouds pulsed and swayed.

It had been years since he had had such a view. Between work and family, it was a rare sight to sit back and watch the sky—to be out there in silence with the music of the wind acting like the world's voice. It put some of his earlier conflicting thoughts on the back burner for a moment, and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Lincoln snapped around and felt his breath lost and his back suddenly chilled.

Sitting there in front of him wasn't the van but Storm Shrieker. It looked almost exactly like it did back at the start of the 2023 season, with a fresh coat of grayish-blue paint and reflective stickering. Devoid of all the new roll cages they spent months building and any sign of the repairs or even the mass of metal on the back where the radar was supposed to be.

Like their first week out of the new season… almost 20 years ago…

And behind the laptop, looking up through the windshield, sat Clyde with amazement. The same as he… remembered?

He looked about the same, if not just a little bit younger, but the same. He still had that same yellow and blue-sleeved t-shirt with brown pants he wore in high school and sometimes a little later here and there, just like how he would wear his signature orange polo. But he looked so much… different. His eyes looked split between being full of youth he had always seen and… guilt.

Why was there guilt? He didn't have anything guilty to be about… had they been that close to town?

It was like, with every blink, no matter if rapid or he tried to hold, the buildings that were once a faraway tree line were suddenly closer and closer and not in the same place twice. In one blink, they were on the outskirts; the next, they were sitting in the middle and suddenly back out in the fields.

Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks. He had been running on maybe five hours of sleep and three cans of Red Bull, and with so many different storms to pick from today, getting where they were now felt like they were in the best spot to stay on this storm until it produced or they raced after the next.

That was the nature of storm chasing and racking up country miles on your body and odometer day after day for hours back on end, hoping to be in the right place at the right time. There were so many chances for bust days of picking the wrong storm to chase, or nothing comes from what you get. But you keep going and going until you find it.

And they found the front-row seat to witness the birth of a titan. Directly above them, the leading edge of the wall cloud passed over. It was such a broad rotation. It was like staring at a floating hurricane, waiting to see where the eye would pop up. Not too far away, the little numb of a funnel was taking shape. Growing thicker in mass and closer to the ground, with the sun backlighting, the contrast of such grays and whites to the yellows and greens was utterly mesmerizing.

Yet he watched as the funnel struggled, and slowly, it retreated back into the storm. Either shy about being witnessed or needing to cook just a bit longer, it would come right at them. If they had to reposition, so be it, but they were primed and ready to get an intercept.

So then, where the hell was everyone?

A storm this impressive looking with his own eyes, even if they were in town or not, there would should be chasers and other vehicles lining this road on either side like a traffic jam with cameras out capturing every second of this storm's life. Yet they were the only ones here as far as the eye could see.

In either direction, towards the horizon or the town, a dark gray wall made the road vanish beyond sight with the rolling hills. Whether there was heavy rain or not, nothing stood out. No buildings or trees, no light from cars or lightning itself. There wasn't even any distant thunder, and for being so close, Shrieker sounded more like a humming fan than an idling diesel. All he could genuinely hear was the wind and…

Nothing.

He felt his ears pop, but not from the loss in pressure. It was the kind of silence that was so deafening you could hear your heartbeat. That it was so quiet you knew it was impossible to achieve it.

There was something here. He could feel it like the land shaking from an approaching flood or avalanche. Growing in force every inch it gained, making you feel like the whole Earth was shaking.

But Lincoln kept his eyes on the sky. Watching the storm, the rotation went from its art piece of colors to a black spinning blob. The horizon had gone so far away the light was becoming pinched by the darkness of both land and air.

Through its rays, he could see it. A small needle sticking his arm out all the way hid it completely behind his pinky. What surprised him was how black the cloud base was compared to an almost pure-white funnel a quarter of the way down.

"We got a funnel!" Clyde exclaimed.

But Lincoln didn't share in the enthusiasm. Dropping his arm, he watched the funnel snake its way roughly a third of the way like an apparition coming to life.

"Dad?" he heard his daughter say, "What's happening?"

Before he could speak, the silence was shattered by the screams of sirens echoing through the town. With no cars around, the sound carried through the buildings and through the air with no interference, getting louder and louder as more units began to add to the call of danger.

"Get inside…" he ordered, his voice drowned out by the wailing as he stepped back to the truck, not taking his eyes off the funnel.

"What is that?" He heard another daughter.

"Just-just get inside!" He stuttered, reaching back for the door handle. Fumbling with bare metal, he glanced to figure out where the handle was. Expecting to see Storm Shrieker, he was greeted by what looked like Vanzilla. It was the same white and two-tone green paint down to the rust spots he remembered from his youth. Only it seemed so new; it was more like something from 20 years ago, if you could even call it new compared to something from over 70.

"We're right under the rotation!" Someone shouted, snapping him back again.

Realizing what he had done, Lincoln spun around to see the debris cloud on the ground exploding in size as two dancing vortices ripped apart the field. Lingering for just a second in place, they went from half-condensed tubes to constricted and darkened. They grew almost as wide as the central funnel itself as it widened.

The vortices reached higher, connecting themselves to the funnel as they traveled on a circuit. They faded fast, but new ones formed before they could die out. The funnel had to be nearly a quarter mile wide where it connected to the wall cloud; it looked like the funnel was tearing chunks of the storm apart, traveling down the outer wind field in a kind of double-funnel that you had a visible inner vortex being shrouded by an outer tube.

You'd see it a lot from tornadoes in very dusty terrain. Sometimes, even wedges were just smaller funnels with wide condensed windfields. This was like a combo of the two; only as the funnel got closer did the vortices maintain themselves. Marching forward, they looked like a giant man walking straight at them.

Then the winds came, and the rain was right behind. It was like rolling the windows down in a stalled car wash. He had to put his hands up to cover his face as he scrambled back into the vehicle. Yanking the door shut behind him, feeling his heart trying to break out, his mind relapsed when he saw the interior wasn't the van or the tank. It was some weird mishmash of everything from the deployment controls to the gauges and wheel.

His confusion only increased when he saw Ronnie Anne sitting beside him, not the strange woman or Clyde. He felt his breath vanish as he realized she looked exactly like she did last time they were on a chase…

"Lincoln…" She looked over at him with fear in her voice. "W-what should we do?!" she asked, her terror reflecting through her goggles.

He couldn't answer before the roar of the wind smashed into the vehicle. Practically all the light had vanished as he looked ahead to see the twister directly in front of them. Further away than it was but looming so far above, he could see the rapid rotation through the sunroof directly overhead, moving faster than clouds could stay together.

"Kids-" He looked to the back, expecting to see his children, only to see more of the glorified frankenstein that was the truck merged with the van. Three rows of backseats and windows, but some were plated over with sheets of steel, and in the dead center was a hole in the roof containing his entire turret rig.

Every time he blinked, it was like seeing two different sides of the same coin simultaneously. He saw the empty cab to the back door, not even within a blink; it snapped back to a van full of nearly a dozen kids who kept shifting all over the place in position and shape.

["LINCOLN!"] Clyde's voice blasted from the radio like a stadium announcer, ["WIND SPEEDS ARE EXPLODING IN THAT THING! YOU NEED TO ABORT THE INTERCEPT! ABORT! GET OUT OF THER-"] there was a garbled mess of voices, like everyone with a radio was repeating the same thing faster and faster as the winds got stronger and stronger as the land before them was consumed.

Lincoln slammed on the gas pedal before Ronnie could voice what he knew, not realizing his hand was already shoving all the levers up to force everything undeployed. He didn't know or care if they were still deployed. He could rebuild them later, like before. His only goal now was getting the hell out of here.

Listening to all ten wheels burning rubber as they rocketed backward, the spot where they were seconds ago became consumed in a sub-vortex launching out from the wall of death and destruction. Hovering over that very spot ripping away asphalt and everything within reach before itself was sucked back into the abyss, taking a house along with it.

He didn't linger or look back to see where he was going. How far back they had gone was enough for him to turn the wheel hard over, sending the whole truck smashing into a ditch that sent anything loose flying and a dozen cries of alarm. Shrieker paused for a second more until its wheels started obliterating the ground. The front's weight pulled it off the road, hitting every hole, rut, and bump the ditch had to offer. Forcing the wheel back over, Lincoln tried focusing on getting back on the pavement, but the road ahead disappeared as fast as the darkness in his mirrors was coming up behind him. The wind gauge, however, was working; it was already jumping back and forth from 100 to 200. The rain became thicker than a hurricane, so the wipers did nothing to aid his view.

They hit something hard, and he was sure he just blew out a front tire, but it was enough to get them out. His own speed gauge went from, at best, 40s to 70s in seconds. He could feel the engine struggling as the needle crept towards 85, but he didn't let up. The town… Kingman was dead ahead, and he could see little specks of debris being ripped away. Power flashes guided the path as the lines to his left were cut down by wind or debris flying across the fields.

Everything the storm could touch was becoming airborne harpoons or cannonballs. Thousand-pound hay bales exploded upon the ground, leaving craters and swaths of grass and dirt flying. A metal barrel ricocheted off the road, smashing effortlessly through a power pole to fold it inwards. He could hear Ronnie scream out to watch for the lines. One got lucky enough to impact his side and shear off his mirror in an explosion of sparks so bright he had to look away.

He didn't see it, but he felt everything shaking as something massive slammed into his passenger side, jolting him up to see the windshield covered in the remains of a hay bale rolling over them. He kept his foot down, forcing his way through, watching as the remains were brushed away but seeing part of the hood crumble.

They were close to town. He could see the plan; they'd need to get a little more distance from the twister and find a shelter to-

"DAD, LOOK OUT!" He heard his… son? Scream out.

Lincoln looked over his shoulder to see… someone who felt too familiar standing in the turret, looking to the east.

And he could see it, too. The rain cloaked the left edge of the monster behind them, sprouting funnel after funnel-like rows of teeth, forming more and more of its mass. Several others stretched out further as horizontal vortices extended as far out as they were, or satellites the size of an average big tornado dropped further outside the circulation.

One of them, a multi-vortex cone as big as when the primary tornado had started, was closing in, dragging something utterly massive around its base.

"What is that?!" He heard another one of his sons shout. Between trying to stay on the road and looking out Ronnie's window, Lincoln tried to keep an eye on the debris and tornado itself.

He was trying to time it, trying to run what math he could latch onto. The storm's strength was fully displayed, but it did not matter compared to how fast it made his panic grow. Vortices and satellites like these moving in triple digit speeds, you couldn't outrun that. No car in these conditions could. Shrieker was purpose-built and was struggling to gain ground. His only hope was for the vortices to pass behind them. If it cut across their path, there was the entire risk of them becoming trapped between both twisters. The satellite could easily get pulled in and miss them or consume every inch of ground and take them with it.

But it kept getting closer and closer. The more he pressed down on the gas, the less the truck moved at all. The land was racing by, but they weren't gaining ground.

"Come on…" he pleaded, begging for his creation to go faster than it ever had before. It responded in kind, the needle moving past 90, but even as it pinched 100, something he knew it couldn't achieve, the storm reacted in its own way. The vortices tightened up, combining into a funnel that consumed whatever it dragged in the debris cloud.

Lincoln knew what was coming. It felt like he had since the start, and he prayed and begged for it not to be. With every ounce of speed, they got picked up. Soon, the twister had to be only a football field away and closing before it let loose its payload.

The remains of what looked like a crumpled-up grain silo flying so fast each time it hit the ground only launched it further and further. Ronnie ducked down, covering her head and bracing for impact as all he could hear was the kids screaming.

Giving little time for a warning, Lincoln spun the wheel hard left, sending them straight for the fields. How he could feel something as heavy as 9 tons become weightless, he didn't know. It was like Shrieker was about to become a rocket ready to launch into the sky before he nearly smashed his head into the wheel when it met the ground again. All the momentum he had seconds ago carried him through a muddy field that… wasn't …

It wasn't mud, grass, or any kind of crop. What splashed out the sides like he was driving through a flood, staining the armor and windows red. Each flick of the wipers only smeared it more, making it darker and darker in the cab, with clumps of snow or ash falling from the sky. He could barely see through the sunroof, with a layer of gray blocking the storm from his sight, but anything in the passenger mirror was just complete blackness getting further away.

He wanted to sigh in relief, but his heart was lodged in his throat when he realized no one was in the seat anymore.

"Ronnie?" he reached out at hand, trying to feel for anything but felt nothing.

When he looked into the back, "Kids—" he lost his breath. There was no sign of any of them. The vehicle had lost all its van form and looked more like how Storm Shrieker would usually look when loaded for a chase.

A blaring horn snapped him forward in time to slam on the brakes before introducing his front end into the back of a box truck. He turned to avoid it on the left side, facing another car suddenly blaring its horn. Flooring it to swerve around, the car did the same, clipping the truck as Shrieker bounced off the curb. Crossing the road nearly t-boning into the side of another vehicle, Lincoln fought the wheel, trying to keep the tank from spinning out.

He nearly got it straightened up to get his speed down into the 30s when traffic stopped at a light. Finally, at a standstill, Lincoln tried to calm his hyperventilation. Feeling like a panic or anxiety attack was waging a two-front war with its allies, making his vision blurry and his limbs feel like noodles covered in stone.

Looking around his surroundings, he was puzzled; he was in town. He knew that little trip through the field would have kept sending them… him across open country until he hit another road. They were too far north to still be within the town limits. Even trying to escape south and run parallel, they'd barely make it to the eastern suburbs of Kingman.

But this wasn't Kingman. He had traveled to so many western towns in a few short years to get a feel for each one. Being in Oklahoma City didn't feel the same as being in Detroit, and this didn't feel like the modern suburbs of any town he had traveled to before out here compared to the more settled places out east.

Even the trip to the mall… Wait-they were just at the mall. Kingman didn't have a mall, and he knew they weren't in Kingman at all…

…he knew these streets. Just driving through the intersection, trying to get out ahead of traffic, as the rain fluctuated between scattered downpours, he could make out buildings and a few street names he remembered all his life.

Royal Woods.

Or at least what he could tell by locations he had a second to see. He was in… three different places at once. His mind felt like he was on the north and west sides simultaneously but physically traveling south. Things that he knew were miles apart were all on the same road now.

He looked in his mirrors and saw the tornado more in the distance. Its wedge shape had greatly deformed, becoming closer to a microburst with its lower sides fanning outward. The radar gauge still said the winds were breaking between 70 and 100, and each sheet of rain he passed through spiked to a complete error. Lincoln knew he was in the bear's cage. He was still under the wall cloud, even from what looked like miles from the beast.

This storm, whatever it was, wouldn't let him out. There were still satellites everywhere he could see or hide in the rain. There was no telling where it could drop more.

His thoughts cut to the buzzing on his leg. He went slow enough to reach for his phone, but it didn't look exactly the same, and the screen just flashed with a question mark between call and decline.

Swiping to accept, he didn't know who to expect as he asked, "Hello?"

"Lincoln…" he heard his father answer.

Surprise filled his voice, "Dad? Christ, where are you?!"

"I'm… I'm at the restaurant…" his voice replied, his voice struggling to form words.

Quickly, Lincoln brought up a mental map of the town, looking around for street names to figure out a route. "I-I'm close! Just hang on, I'm on my way!" he shouted, reaching to flip on the siren and pick up speed. He struggled to hold on as he barreled through an intersection where everyone had given up following the lights.

"Find somewhere safe and stay there! I'll be there any minute."

"Lincoln, it's so huge…" his voice was filled with fear and awe as if someone were witnessing an act of God.

Lincoln knew that feeling all too well—that moment of hesitation when one's mind failed to decide whether to flee or fight.

"Why are you outside?!" Lincoln shouted in horror. "Get inside before-"

"Lincoln… it's… it's here."

"What." He looked out to his east, still seeing the darkness some distance away with a half dozen mini-tornadoes scattered about. Ahead of him, there was nothing. "Dad, what do you mean-"

"It's right over us…"

"Dad, what are you…"

It was like a magician pulling the cloth from a trick to reveal to the audience. As the rain parted, he could see a bulbous funnel from the cloud base. It didn't narrow down like a normal funnel; it was more like someone was pressing their first through a bedsheet as it stretched to form the shape.

And it was massive.

With how dark it was, it reminded him so much of the forest intercept years ago, but with it only lacking its…

"Dad. Get out of there, NOW!"

"Lincoln…" Lynn Sr. quietly spoke, "It's here." Lincoln almost threw the phone away as an ungodly roar blasted from the speakers. Like the audio from videos with strong winds causing them to be so broken that anything else short of an explosion could be heard.

He heard his father try to say something. Try to scream it over the winds, but his voice was lost.

Dropping the phone, he looked ahead and watched the funnel condense. It started like a tiny funnel no bigger than the road, moving right to the left, struggling to maintain structure.

Then stalled. Lingering over wherever it was, a debris cloud and power flashes exploded from its base. Another funnel snakes down, latching onto it; another came, and another as the debris cloud expanded beyond its reach. Before his phone hit the floor, an almost black, half-mile-wide wedge was tearing through the heart of town.

Shrieker skidded down the street as Lincoln hit the brakes again. The gauge screamed louder than the series, displaying 200 plus from just a few blocks away. Everything around him started to explode into the air. Expanding the debris cloud far beyond the reaches of the funnel, Shrieker began to get pelted with everything from all directions. When the taillights of the cars far ahead started disappearing in groups, he gunned it over the median, plowing into traffic, trying to escape the storm.

He didn't get a second to think of what to do when he saw a giant mass, a utility truck, or something like it fall into his view. Before he could scream or turn away, in the second it took to disappear into the blind spot created by the windows, a fireball erupted right next to him. Two inches of reinforced glass and a bulletproof lexan shattered like a rock had been shot into the cab. Half the windshield cracked in half as he felt shards slice into the side of his face. His world began to get darker and louder as the wind swarmed inside, peppering him with dirt and rocks. He felt the whole truck get smashed sideways hard enough to do a good 100-degree turnaround.

He couldn't focus between the gauge blaring inches from his ear and the blast ringing. Heavier objects pounded in the armor as he tried not to move his head to agitate the dozens of cuts that trailed from his nose to the back of his neck.

Pressing a hand over the bulk of the cuts, he felt his entire neck burn from shards digging deeper in his vain attempt to stop the bleeding. His teeth ground together, but he resisted cursing out.

"I wanna go home!" he heard someone shout from behind. Too blinded by the debris in his eyes, he couldn't make out who was with him now, but he could count several bodies now occupying the back with all the windows on the driver's side blown out. Through the back window, he could see the void getting closer.

They weren't safe out in the open. Vanzilla, Storm Shrieker, whatever, this vehicle was getting torn apart. Even with the tank, this much damage flying with twisters clocking 200 plus dropping everywhere was too much. They needed to get somewhere underground and wait it out.

Home. They needed to get home. Lisa's old bunker was still there, and he remembered it connecting to the basement. It could survive a Tsar Bomba directly above it.

Ignoring the sting, his foot hit the gas again. Opening the distance to the twister, he didn't want to look back on it. He told him he would be okay. It took a moment, and he dropped his phone to get to the shelter. He was staying hunkered down until this hell was over with…

Those thoughts faded to the wayside. But he didn't let them go.

Debris flying overhead didn't weave its course as chunks of whole buildings stayed airborne in the distance. Carried from one wind to another like an aerial swarm, shredding anything it touched or crashing down into anyone unfortunate.

With so much in the air down to the ground level, the Lincoln fought to keep the vehicle going. He was tempted to try to punch out the windshield to see better instead of almost sticking his head through the broken window like a dog. Trying to keep his eyes open in the wind, he couldn't focus on one thing, from watching the road to watching the storm.

Only a handful of times could he remember seeing something like the wind fields becoming overlapped. The closer the two became, the more their separate rotations should interfere with each other. Cause one of both to destabilize and die. At most, one becomes the dominant tornado and absorbs the other's power.

With how close so many of the smaller satellites were, this was true. Two became a single, more enormous vortex, yet more and more satellites kept forming. Feeding themselves into the larger siblings or forming into new monsters themselves. He counted eight or nine different tornadoes all around the town, with so many funnels poking out of the sky he could only imagine the actual number in the dozens.

The tornado they had escaped had no shape, but vortices rode across the horizon like the world was gone. The one behind them was getting further away but getting bigger. Two more wedges were in the process of becoming wedges, nearly sealing the gap between them.

He ducked back inside as he braked again, slowing down to watch another satellite form a block ahead of them and carve a path across a jammed four-lane avenue. He knew they were much closer to the housing section of southern Royal Woods than the more business-heavy area, but he could not imagine how many homes were just wiped off the earth in seconds.

How far his path went didn't feel short or long, but it didn't go anywhere else. Not once to turn on a different street to bypass traffic or blocked roads. Seeing countless cars and people passing by, trying to find somewhere to go.

He had to tell himself it wasn't necessary. Those who could help were trying to help those trying to help themselves. His family came first. Either they are with him now or at home; the town could rebuild itself later. If he got hurt, so be it, but he'd take every hit that came his way until they were safe.

Stores and parking lots shifted in the blink of an eye to rows of houses all around. There were so many he could remember that were new and old from so much of his life, somehow wholly untouched. There wasn't any wind or rain. The trees were so thick he couldn't see anything near the ground but the sky was missing so much. It was almost textureless with a black color, like the night was over the day.

And there wasn't any tornadoes.

He felt his lips dry from the uneasiness. Part of him was hopeful, feeling maybe they had escaped. The storm was still so close that it could change directions or drop something nearby. He didn't risk letting his guard down.

"Guys, when we get to the house, get the others and go straight to the basement. Get to the bunker before-"

*BAM*

Something massive smashed into the side of the vehicle. Lincoln could feel the door deform, crushed inwards so far he felt the cold metal punch around half his leg. He couldn't stop himself from crying out, letting go of the wheel holding his leg, feeling it be stabbed in so many places.

The tank spun around like a turntable, the rear jumped the curb, smashed through a fence, dug a trench across the front yard stopping only when the tires collided with the sidewalk and tore the wheels apart. Almost facing the way they came, Lincoln knew the van was done. The respite in that they stopped only added to his pain in trying to get his bloody fingers around the metal to get himself out.

He heard the doors open and looked back to see everyone piling out of the van and running for their house.

Untouched aside from the newly made trench, it looked the same as he remembered walking back up it after coming home to… When did he come home? Yesterday, he recalled being at home preparing to put one of his risky plans into motion and then… and then…

How was he here? How was he back in Royal Woods? How was any of this happening?! None of it was possible. He had broken the curse… did he break it? He survived Kingman. He knew months later what that monster was meant to do and defied his fate. His family was free. They were all finally free…

He was…

He felt his senses failing him. His face still stung, and his leg burned, but he felt so numb and cold. The calm sound of the still air was dying. The rain was picking up again, and the wind whistled through the cab like voices speaking of warning of what was to come in his ears.

He grabbed part of the door in a mighty heave and forced it up. He didn't feel it leave his leg, but he could feel how nimble and empty it felt. His breath left him for a second, but sucking it back in, he tried to shoulder the door open, but it wouldn't budge. He ripped the seat belt off, climbing over the glovebox to the passenger side, dragging his bummed leg across, and pulling himself over once he grabbed the handle. The door didn't even open an inch before the winds returned in force.

Snatching his fingers back in before they were crushed, he used all his body weight to get open. Pressing himself through the gap, his leg snagged on the edge, sending him face-first into the grass.

Lincoln didn't want to realize what happened. He didn't know the mask he wore was becoming filled with mud until he ripped it away. Feeling the world bombarding him from all sides, he pulled himself up the van. Holding onto the fender to pull himself towards the house, the wind was desperate to keep him from reaching.

Past the rear bumper, all that stood between him and the front door left ajar was 20 feet of yard and sidewalk.

He was so close he could see the inside. Each staggered step brought him closer and closer, but he felt like he was getting pulled further away. He counted the lines marking sections of the concrete, each a milestone, and as the lines vanished, his determination grew.

He fell to his hands and knees. Skin turned red and bleed as he clawed at the seams, dragging his legs with every inch he gained. The wind and rain forced his head down, eyes away from the house and to his movements.

He didn't know how far he got, hoping he was at the steps or close enough to make a dash for the house. He lifted his head up to see, watching as parts of the roof were peeled away and windows shattered from the dropping pressure. His ears began to pop, his hands let go to protect his head from debris falling on his wind increased, and Lincoln pushed off the sidewalk. Laying into the grass to quickly dig handfuls of dirt to get his arms to act like anchors.

When he heard his own voice call out, but he did not speak, his efforts paused as he looked to the house. He saw himself by the front door, his old 11-year-old self, soaked and muddy just like on that fateful day. Desperation in his eyes as he tried to get the closed door open. Looking over his shoulder, not at himself, but at what lay beyond, he was shocked and afraid.

The wind increased again, this time maintaining itself as he felt his legs begin to dangle in the air. He kept one arm in and the other digging. He was almost elbow-deep, hitting roots, until he heard a cry cut through the wind.

Looking up in time to see a mass of orange coming towards him, his arm ripped free from the soil, launching out to snag onto whatever his fingers could grab. He felt cloth and skin brush past, but another hand grabbed onto his. His whole body was yanked back from the added weight, looking back to see his terror-stricken face stare into his eyes.

"I GOT YOU!" Lincoln shouted, but he couldn't hear himself. Pulling his younger self up to him as the 11-year-old did all he could to get closer. Slowly getting far enough for Lincoln to get him underneath and use his body to shield him and keep the wind from the wind.

Tucked under his arm, the kid, himself, Kid Lincoln, he didn't know how to address the small body, but like reading his mind, his younger self looked up into his eyes. Blue to blue, with one pair full of total fear to another that spoke uncertainty but promise.

He would keep him safe. They will get out of-

"AAAAHHHH!" He screamed in agony, feeling someone penetrate his back just below his left shoulder. Like fire under his skin, he tried to stop it. He rolled over, reaching for whatever had impaled him. Feeling his hands become soaked in his blood again, reaching back to find… Nothing.

He didn't feel any object, not even a hole, yet the blood kept flowing. Confused, he looked at his hands, seeing so much red mixed with sweat and dirt, too much for whatever had hit him to cause so much.

But he realized something was wrong. He didn't feel his kid-self by his side anymore.

He rolled back onto his side in panic, looking back the way he crawled to see his younger self slowly standing up and blocking out the headlights of what he saw finally as a fully deployed Storm Shrieker. Bare metal plates and roll cage like the days after they had added upgrades. But with the bare metal and crumpled cage, the caved-in passenger side, and shattered windows, the red pulsing lights meant to warn people to get away from the vehicle flashed as fast as his heartbeat.

Standing behind it, like the reaper in the fog walking upon its downed prey, he could see the shape of a funnel. The homes across the street disappeared not in debris explosions but, like the vortex, had no wind. Homes were ripped apart to the foundations before his own eyes made no sound that could be heard over his own heart.

He looked back at him, the fear gone, but in its place was acceptance.

Lincoln quickly tried to stand, but the pain brought him down. "No!" he shouted in panic and pleaded. He gave a blank look but a slow, solemn nod, looking away.

"NO!" He hollered louder than the wind. He was fighting through the pain to close the gap.

The tornado was on the street now. Consuming Shrieker in its vortex as the whole tank wobbled in place, its lights became stripped away. When the truck became a blur, he slowly lifted his arms up. Hands flat out and head tilted back, Lincoln ignored the pain, trying to zombie dash the last four feet, reaching out intent to grab the kid by the back of his shirt.

The twister exploded when his fingers were inches away. All at once, he felt himself be launched backward, landing hard on his back as the wind became deafening. He barely had seconds to see his younger self float inches off the ground before vanishing into the vortex. Storm Shrieker became nothing but a dark mass with struggling lights as he heard pieces of metal being torn apart. Like the last scenes with the heroes, he watched the 9-tons of steel be ripped free from the ground. Like a parked plane hit by a gale, the rear lifted first. The headlights shone down upon him before they were pulled higher into the storm.

Lincoln twisted and ran for the house, getting three feet in before he watched the lights darken and the whole roof become ripped off. The whole second floor didn't last much longer, as the ground floor and garage exploded. He dropped back to his stomach to avoid the debris, but he could feel the wood and objects skim across his back, tearing through his shirt.

He tried to latch onto the grass again, trying to find a spot to anchor himself until the wind swept underneath. Tossing him back towards the street over the spot where the tank once was, he felt his right arm snap from hitting the pavement. The pain that should have followed never came. He could feel it broken but couldn't move it.

Lincoln looked above, staring up into the twisting barrel of the funnel-like the mouth of a monster staring down at its trapped prey.

"Lincoln!" His ears stung from voices all around him. His head snapped side to side, and to his shock, he saw his sisters standing with their backs to him at the edge of the funnel.

"Girls?" he whispered, struggling to get back up on one knee. His gaze dared cross between all ten of them.

He could see each of them all clearer than the daylight. Unaffected by the winds that barely fluttered their hair or blocked his view from them. Every time it did, he saw them change, from when he saw the youngest as infants to when he last saw the oldest in their adulthood. All of them change from one time to another, going back to the days he remembered from his childhood.

"Girls?" He tried calling out, but they didn't move. Clearing away his eyes, he saw not just his sisters standing in the vortex but a dozen more. Some made him think he was seeing doubles of them. Others felt too unknown, as if he was trying to visualize himself or an alternate version.

But among them, two out-like memories come to life. From the day he had changed his plan for the future, a gray-haired boy in a sleeveless jean jacket and bandana stood opposite a girl with autumn brown hair in a white blouse and orange skirt.

He knew those two. He remembered them so vividly from that day. When his kids… those weren't his kids. One he thought- he knew, was probably some figment of his imagination and the other just the one-off interaction during a stressful day. Neither ever to be seen or heard from again…

Yet beyond them, he saw his family: his mom and dad, Pop-Pop, Myrtle, Grandpa Leonard, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, where he saw Harriet standing among them. They were all so close to his sisters and the kids that it was like they were forming a ring around him. He could see countless more people standing behind them like a gathered crowd, faces emotionless but all gazing down at him.

Then, slowly, his sisters began to turn around. They had the same look in their eyes as the crowd, but the others didn't follow. But even they started to look away. As one, their gaze lifted off him to the air, so far up to tilt their heads back.

He told him not to look. Don't look and know what they saw was upon you.

But his head slowly moved back. His blue eyes followed the sides of the funnel filled with debris he could see. He could see Storm Shrieker gently tumbling around with a whole chunk of his house spinning its opposite. So often in movies or shows, you'd expect to look up the eye of the funnel and see the clear blue sky high above like a gateway to heaven.

All he saw was darkness. Beyond what he could describe as pitch black, nothing could be seen beyond the vortex as another funnel slowly descended from the abyss. The complete opposite of the darkness, it was so white he thought it was made of light itself getting closer.

He felt the wind around him increase like he was standing in a forming dust devil, but realization forced him to try to get back to his feet.

It surged, a vortice small enough to wrap his arms around spun up feet away and smacked right into him. He faltered but didn't stop. He rose again, and yet another came from his side. Lifting off the ground, he looked back to the funnel, watching the little cone widen. The abyss was visible inside, as the top covered everything, and multiple funnels started snaking their way down around the edge.

Lincoln tried looking back to see his family and people, but all he saw before they became consumed in the outer winds was his sisters' gaze returned to him. He could feel himself lifting. He tried to grab at the road, trying to anchor himself as his feet dangled in the air in a futile accept to push himself closer to the ground.

He tried to scream. Tried to deny what was happening.

Yet all he could hear was the voices of thousands saying his name.

---

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

Good god, where to begin with this one…

On a positive, officially broken 30k views!

On the other... by the time this chapter is getting started, Chapter 23 just got posted, with Chapter 24 finished just a few hours ago. I took a two-hour power nap after downing some aspirin, but even with that, I still had a headache while getting this rolling. This was originally intended to be finished before July started, but given what is coming out today I figured at this point screw it once I saw it become 3x bigger than planned.

This was pretty much the embodiment of how I plan things: in that so many parts all connect together with other pieces but need the one critical element to start linking them together to actually form the completed image.

This chapter pretty much took the last third of the previous chapter, the starting third of the original Chapter 25, and a mix of the original NSL Chapter 5, a kind of mix in what forms the title itself that gave me a bit of a challenge in how to order events. It became a question of "where does each piece fit into it all?" I started to get the picture that it was just one long sequence of events that started from start to finish—three different eras of the same story. This allowed me to actually get one helluva jumpstart in all three sections, given that the NSL was already mostly complete last year, the rescue was cut from the immediate last chapter, and the nightmare was planned for months in advance.

The entire 'nightmare' sequence itself was one of those parts of the story where I constantly thought back to how it would be set up and progress. To some degree, I was inspired by the tornado scene from Day After Tomorrow, but at the same time it evolved from my original layout in that some things weren't added as intended or removed for the sake of keeping it always moving.

The focus might be crazy, but this is mostly being seen from Lincoln's mind's perspective. Thus why there are so many repeating 'he's' as himself.

This chapter did spark a kind of 'What If' idea in "What if Lincoln returned home?" in that it wasn't a letter and check he sent but he actually stopped his season and went back to Royal Woods in early May. How would things play out for everyone when the family would be reunited at that time? It's an idea I have for a possible spin-off down the line when this story is more along.

In part, it allowed me some time to not feel utterly burned out, and even get some stuff I had been sitting on for a while to actually get out and posted instead of taking up doc space. I know those that read this story back when it was just in early single digits (and reviews) know that the original Chapter 5 was something that fucked this story up, so in that regard, I hoped to make it more in line to what this story is built around and why it is in the future (though because of this perspective, it's not exactly what happened in reality).

So far, current planning hopes to have at least 25 more chapters added to this story before the year is out. With everything being detailed up to the 'current' chapter 43 prepared, several of which are already written in some form, the chapter count is sitting in the high-70s mid-80s, yet it is expected to increase as they get rearranged and broken down as this chapter has become.

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