The 6th Street Gang was born out of the fury of American veterans following the Fourth Corporate War, angered by the prolonged inaction of the NCPD. They claimed to bring justice to the city, but their actions were no different from any other gang. The gang had around 2,300 members, and among them, Oliver was the newest recruit, having joined for less than a week.
As a rookie, he wasn't originally supposed to follow the squad leader to Watson District. Everyone knew that the 6th Street Gang respected other gangs' territories and preferred to hold their ground in Santo Domingo, rarely stepping into other areas. However, a batch of important firearms they were smuggling had been hijacked while passing through Watson. Since Oliver's squad happened to be in the vicinity, they were the first to receive the call and rushed to investigate.
But for a newcomer like Oliver, what happened next was far too intense.
Who could have predicted that as soon as they arrived in Little China, a simple verbal disagreement would escalate into gunfire? A Maelstrom member they were negotiating with had suddenly pulled the trigger on them. It was pure madness. Oliver had heard rumors that Maelstrom members were a bunch of lunatics who turned themselves into monsters with cybernetic implants—but seeing them in person, they were even crazier than he had imagined.
Oliver's squad consisted of ten people. Their leader was shot in the head the moment the Maelstrom gang pulled their guns. In response, before taking cover, the squad managed to take down four Maelstrom members. However, there were thirty of them—three times their number. With their extreme cybernetic enhancements, even though 6th Street members were mostly ex-military and far more skilled, they were still getting pinned down.
Shit, shit, shit! I only joined 6th Street because my old man was in it. I've got no real skills, just needed a way to make a living. He even arranged for a capable squad leader to look after me, and now that leader's dead on our first mission? What the hell is this?!
If getting your head blown open counted as a talent, then his squad leader was truly gifted.
"Thud."
While Oliver was lost in thought, a teammate beside him was shot and collapsed to the ground, convulsing for a moment before going still.
Fuck.
He quickly scanned the surroundings—while he had been mentally complaining, only four of his teammates remained.
Where the hell is the NCPD? Cops? Anyone? The gunfire is this loud, and no one's coming? Save us already!
Oliver wanted to run, but he knew the consequences of turning his back on the enemy—and the price of betraying his comrades. The first would mean death, but if the gang found out he abandoned his squad, he wouldn't just die. Even his father's position in 6th Street wouldn't save him.
The gang's code was clear: deserters were bound and handed over to the families of the fallen. Those families would take a razor and slowly scrape their jawbone—peeling away skin, muscle, and flesh, down to the bone.
Oliver had once read a book that described "scraping bone to remove poison." It sounded heroic in that context, but he had no interest in experiencing it firsthand.
"Bang."
Shit, I'm dead.
That was Oliver's first thought. But then he realized the gunfire didn't come from Maelstrom—it came from the side, hitting both his squad and the Maelstrom members.
"Bang bang bang!"
In the chaotic barrage of gunfire, Oliver spotted four Maelstrom gangsters dropping instantly. The sudden ambush had them shouting in confusion, so much so that they forgot about their fight with 6th Street. Some even stood up, trying to reposition.
Idiots.
Oliver took the chance to fire back. His father's training ensured his shots found their marks. A few rounds later, more Maelstrom thugs fell.
"Where the hell did these guys come from?! Does 6th Street have this many people?!"
"Bang!"
The loudest, most obnoxious Maelstrom member was suddenly shot in the head—despite being behind cover.
"Shit, is that a smart weapon? Kang Tao tech?!"
While Maelstrom panicked, Kai was calmly counting his remaining bullets.
His Lexington pistol had a magazine capacity of 21 rounds. So far, he had fired six and taken out five targets.
As for how someone like Kai, who had never fired a gun before, managed such perfect accuracy? Simple—he was cheating.
The moment he pulled the trigger, his brain absorbed all the relevant data about the firearm—ballistics, wind speed, temperature—everything that could affect his aim. After the first shot, it felt as if he had an auto-locking system. The second he raised his weapon and pulled the trigger, he instinctively knew where the bullet would land.
[TN: his cheat keep on getting better and better]
It was just like playing a game with aim assist—no, even better.
His sixth shot was a ricochet kill, taking out a Maelstrom member hiding behind cover. He had done it as an experiment, and it worked exactly as he expected.
Watching heads explode under his gunfire, Kai felt nothing—no shock, no hesitation. These people had interrupted his peaceful breakfast. Sending them to hell was just returning the favor.
Kai was adapting much faster than he expected. Not everyone could start killing within thirty minutes of arriving in a new world—let alone racking up five kills in their first shootout. Even the demons of hell might start worshiping him as an idol at this rate.
Crouching behind a garbage bin, he listened to the bullets thudding against the metal, thinking that for some reason, he seemed to have a strange affinity for trash—both literal and metaphorical.
Kinetic weapons had a strong recoil. Even though he had gripped his gun properly, his hands were still numb. But with his mind rapidly adjusting, the discomfort barely registered.
I need to properly learn shooting stances and evasive maneuvers someday.
The battlefield had little cover, so Maelstrom was already at a disadvantage. When attacked from two sides, they were completely exposed. By the time Kai stopped firing, all thirty Maelstrom members were down.
And of the 6th Street squad? Only Oliver remained.
Kai's anger had subsided.
The fight was over.
Mission accomplished.