chapter 4

The Sixth Street Gang was formed after the Fourth Corporate War by disgruntled American veterans who were fed up with the NCPD's long-standing inaction. They claimed to "bring justice to the city," but in practice, their actions were no different from those of other gangs. With a total of around 2,300 members, the Sixth Street Gang was a formidable force. Among its ranks, Oliver was a newcomer, having joined less than a week ago.

As a rookie, Oliver typically wouldn't have been assigned to a mission in Watson District. The Sixth Street Gang generally respected gang territories, focusing on defending their stronghold in Santo Domingo. But this time was different. A shipment of smuggled firearms, critical to their operations, had been stolen while passing through Watson District. Oliver's team had been the closest to the scene, so they were the first to respond.

It was not the kind of start Oliver had imagined.

The moment they arrived in Little Chinatown, negotiations with the Maelstrom Ganger escalated into a gunfight. One misplaced word had been all it took for the Vortex members to open fire. Oliver had heard the Maelstrom Gang was made up of lunatics who transformed their bodies into grotesque, cyber-enhanced monstrosities. Meeting them in person only confirmed their reputation—they were even crazier than he had expected.

Oliver's squad of ten had barely managed to fight back. Their captain was killed instantly by a shot to the head. In retaliation, they managed to take down four Maelstrom members before retreating to cover. But they were hopelessly outnumbered: the Gang had brought thirty fighters. Despite their military training and superior tactics, the Sixth Street members were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and ferocity of their enemies.

This is insane, Oliver thought, crouching behind a dilapidated stall. I only joined because of my dad...

Oliver's father, a respected figure in the Sixth Street Gang, had arranged for him to join under the protection of an experienced captain. But now that captain was dead, and Oliver was on his own in his first mission.

"Plop."

A teammate beside him collapsed, twitching twice before going still. The gunshot echoed in Oliver's ears, making his heart race.

Where are the cops? Where's the NCPD? Can't they hear the gunfire?

Oliver wanted to run, but he knew better than to abandon his team. Turning his back on the enemy would mean certain death, and betraying his gang would bring consequences far worse. The Sixth Street Gang didn't tolerate deserters. Their punishment for abandoning comrades was brutal and ceremonial—carried out by the families of the fallen.

He shuddered at the thought, gripping his weapon tightly.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out—not from the Maelstrom Gang's side, but somewhere between them.

"Bang, bang, bang."

Amid the chaos, Oliver saw several Maelstrom members drop to the ground. They screamed in confusion, scrambling for cover.

Seizing the moment, Oliver fired his weapon. Years of shooting practice with his father paid off as his bullets found their targets. He brought down a few more enemies before pausing to reload.

"Where are these guys coming from?!" a member shouted. "Is this all Sixth Street?!"

"Bang."

The loudmouthed thug was silenced by a bullet to the head, despite hiding behind cover.

"Shit! Smart weapons! Kang tech?!"

The panic in the Maelstrom Gang was palpable.

Meanwhile, Karl calmly calculated his remaining bullets.

The Lexington pistol in his hand held 21 rounds. He had fired six so far, taking down five targets.

Despite never having used a gun before, Karl's precision was unnervingly accurate. Each shot was guided by instinct—or something beyond it. After firing his first round, he felt as though his mind had absorbed every relevant piece of data: wind direction, temperature, and the gun's unique characteristics. By the second shot, it was as if the bullets were automatically locking onto their targets.

The sixth shot had been a ricochet, taking down a Maelstrom member hiding behind cover. Karl had tested his abilities, and they did not disappoint.

As he reloaded, he felt no remorse. If anything, he was satisfied to see the chaos unfold. These people had interrupted his breakfast. For that, they deserved to die.

Taking cover behind a trash can, Karl felt an odd sense of camaraderie with the garbage surrounding him.

The recoil of the kinetic weapon was stronger than he'd expected. Even with both hands on the grip, the shock left his palms numb. But the numbness was a minor inconvenience; his mind was already adapting to compensate.

I need to work on my shooting posture, Karl mused, peering over the edge of his cover. And evasion techniques. Can't rely on luck forever.

The battlefield was a mess. Both the Vortex Gang and Sixth Street had taken heavy losses, but the tables had turned with Karl's intervention. As his gunfire subsided, the last of the Maelstrom members collapsed.

Thirty bodies littered the ground. Only Oliver remained standing among the Sixth Street squad.

Karl lowered his weapon, his anger cooling as he surveyed the scene.

The fight was over. The matter had been resolved.