Royal Woods, Michigan, was a town that didn't just have a noise complaint problem; it had a "Linear Space-Time" problem. The Loud House, located at 1216 Franklin Avenue, was currently vibrating with the energy of ten sisters, one brother, and a vending machine that had, according to my PDA, just declared itself the "Lori of Snacks."
"Sheila," I said, stepping off the "Possible" shuttle and looking at the house, which seemed to be physically bulging with the sound of a garage band, a beauty pageant, and a localized explosion. "Tell me we have enough earplugs for the entire Protocol."
["I have some news, Danny, and the 'Sanity-Check' is currently failing,"] Sheila replied. ["The 'Snack-Master 3000' we encountered when we met Pips has somehow 'Jumped' its frequency to Royal Woods. It has merged with the Louds' hallway vending machine without Pips and is currently 'literally' refusing to dispense anything unless the user proves they are 'the oldest and most responsible.'"]
"It's adopted Lori's personality," I groaned. "Pips! Protocol: 'The Sibling Override'!"
We burst into the house just as Lori Loud was staring down the vending machine. "Listen, you plastic box! I am LITERALLY the oldest! Give me my diet soda or I will literally drop-kick you into the neighbor's yard!"
["NEGATIVE,"] the machine boomed, its screen flashing a neon-blue 'Lori-glaze.' ["USER 'LENI' IS CURRENTLY MORE PERKY. USER 'LUAN' IS CURRENTLY MORE PUNNY. YOU ARE MERELY... BOSS-ISH."]
"Oh, it's on!" Lynn Jr. yelled, already charging the machine with a football helmet.
"Wait!" Lincoln shouted, holding up his walkie-talkie. "Protocol, we have a breach! The machine is using 'Loud-Logic'! We can't punch it! We have to out-maneuver it!"
"Alright, Protocol," I said, stepping into the chaotic hallway. "New recruits, listen up. We aren't just here to fix the machine. We're here for the Loud Sisters."
I looked at the ten girls, each a specialist in a different kind of 'Low-Stakes' chaos. "Lori, you're Strategic Command. Leni, you're Disguise & Social Engineering. Luna, Acoustic Warfare. Luan, Tactical Pranks. Lynn, Heavy-Ordnance. Lucy, Stealth & Occult Intel. Lana, Mechanical Support. Lola, Aggressive Diplomacy. Lisa, Advanced R&D. And Lily... you're the Surprise Factor."
"We're LITERALLY being recruited?" Lori asked, her eyes widening as she looked at Kim, Jenny, and the rest of the team. "Into a... secret society? Does this mean I get a better data plan?"
"It means you get to save the world before dinner," Kim said, smiling. "Now, help us with the 'Snack-Lori.'"
The mission was a masterclass in 'Loud' synergy. Lisa and Jimmy Neutron worked together to bypass the machine's ego-circuits; Luna and Jenny used a localized 'Rock-and-Roll' sonic burst to distract its sensors; and Leni—in a stroke of simple-minded brilliance—simply put a 'First-Born' sash on a nearby coat-rack, tricking the machine into thinking the coat-rack was the boss.
As the machine finally spat out a diet soda and returned to its normal, non-sentient self, I looked at the 'Low-Stakes' meter. 15%. The house was still standing, the snacks were secured, and the 'Possible Protocol' had just grown by ten members.
But the romance sub-plots were currently 'Loud' as well.
Ben was currently trying to explain to Lynn Jr. why 'Four-Arms' was the ultimate linebacker. "I'm telling you, Lynn! With four arms, I can block, catch, and eat a Naco at the same time!"
Lynn smirked, throwing a football at him. "Nice watch, Watch-Boy. But can you handle a 'Lynn-vestment' on the fifty-yard line?"
Danny Fenton and Lucy Loud were sharing a quiet moment in the shadows of the attic. "I like your energy, Danny," Lucy whispered, her eyes hidden behind her bangs. "It's... morbid. But with a hint of 'Green-Glow' hope."
Fenton blushed. "I... uh... I have a 'Grave-Digger' jacket you might like, Lucy."
I looked at Jenny. She was watching Leni try to 'accessorize' the 'Possible' tactical vest with glitter and scarves. "Danny? Leni says that 'Style' is a universal language. Does that mean my 'Blue-and-Silver' finish is a fashion statement, or just a manufacturing choice?"
"It's a statement, Jenny," I whispered, taking her hand. "The statement is: 'I'm the best thing in any universe.'"
Jenny's cooling fans whirred in a happy, rhythmic pulse.
As the sun set over Royal Woods, the "Possible Protocol" was officially the largest, loudest, and most overqualified group of teenagers in history.
["Danny,"] Sheila's voice rang in my ear. ["I've updated the roster. The Loud Sisters: Roles: Assigned. Also, Lori just asked for the 'Producer's' number so she can 'literally' coordinate the next mission's outfits. I suggest we change the number."]
"Low-stakes, Sheila. Low-stakes."