Oliver

The Sixth Street Gang had been born from American Veterans angered by the NCPD's long-standing inaction after the Fourth Corporate War. They claimed to "bring justice to the city," but what they did was no different from any other gang. They had around 2,300 members, and among them, Oliver was the newest. He had joined less than a week ago.

As a newcomer, he should not have been following the captain into the Watson District. Everyone knew the Sixth Street Gang had always respected other gangs' territory and only wanted to protect their own Santo Domingo, rarely setting foot in other districts. But a shipment of important firearms they had been smuggling had been hijacked while passing through Watson, and their squad happened to be nearby. As the first people assigned to investigate the stolen weapons, they rushed over the moment they received the call.

Still, this was far too exciting for someone who had just joined the gang.

Who could have guessed that not long after arriving in Little China in the Watson District, the Maelstrom members they were negotiating with would start shooting over a verbal disagreement? That was too barbaric. He had heard that Maelstrom was full of lunatics who had turned themselves into monsters, but meeting them in person, he found they were even crazier than he had imagined.

Oliver's squad had ten people. Their captain got his head blown off the moment the Maelstrom members drew their guns. In response, before ducking behind cover, Oliver's squad killed four Maelstrom members. But Maelstrom had brought a full thirty people this time. With three times their numbers and those insane cybernetic modifications, even though most Sixth Street members came from the military and were far more elite, they were beaten so badly they could barely raise their heads.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. I only joined Sixth Street because Dad's in the gang, I'm useless, and I needed something to eat. Dad even found me a capable captain to look after me, and this capable captain died on his first mission. What the hell is this?

If having his head burst open could count as a talent show, then that really was quite a skill.

"Thud."

While Oliver was lost in wild thoughts, a teammate beside him was hit by a bullet and collapsed to the ground. His limbs twitched twice, then went still.

Fuck.

Oliver quickly looked over the teammates around him and realized that while he had been grumbling internally, fewer than four of them remained.

Where was the NCPD? Where were the cops? Help! Couldn't they hear how loud the gunfire was over here? Help!

Oliver really wanted to run, but he knew exactly what would happen if he turned his back on the enemy, and what would happen if he abandoned his teammates. The former would only get him killed. If the latter was discovered, it would be far worse than just death. Even if his father held some status in the Sixth Street Gang, he would not be able to save him.

According to gang rules, anyone who abandoned their teammates would be tied up and subjected to gang justice by the abandoned teammates' families. They would take a razor and slowly shave his chin from pink to red, then finally to white.

When Oliver had been bored before, he had read a book that mentioned "scraping poison from the bone." It had been described as something incredibly manly, but Oliver had no desire to experience it himself.

"Bang."

It's over, it's over. I'm definitely dead!

Just as Oliver thought that, he realized the gunshot had not come from Maelstrom's side. It sounded more like it had come from the flank, between Maelstrom and them.

"Bang bang crack crack."

Amid the chaotic gunfire, Oliver saw four of the Maelstrom bastards in front of him drop in an instant. Caught off guard by the unexpected attack, they started shouting frantically, even forgetting that they were still facing Oliver's side. Quite a few of them actually stood up, trying to find new cover.

Idiots.

Oliver immediately opened fire. The marksmanship his father had trained into him since childhood guided every bullet to its proper place. After several shots, several more Maelstrom grunts fell.

"Where the hell did these people come from? Do the Sixth Street bastards have this many people?!"

"Bang."

The loudest, most obnoxious Maelstrom member took a bullet to the head, even though he had clearly been hiding behind cover.

"Fuck, a Smart Weapon? Kang Tao gear?!"

Amid Maelstrom's panicked cries, Carl was calculating her remaining ammunition.

The Lexington in her hand held twenty-one rounds. She had fired six shots just now and killed five Maelstrom members.

As for how Carl, who had never fired a gun before, achieved such results on her first attempt, she could only say that this was what cheating looked like.

After the first shot, just as she had expected, all the data related to the firearm had been stored in her mind. Along with the wind direction, temperature, and a whole series of other messy factors, after missing the first shot, the second felt as though it had auto-lock. The moment she raised her hand and pulled the trigger, she knew where the bullet would land.

The feeling was like locking onto someone with a cursor in a game and hitting wherever she pointed. No, it felt even better than that.

Using the sixth shot to kill the Maelstrom member hiding behind cover with a ricochet was Carl's experiment, and just as she had expected, she could do that too.

Watching heads bloom beneath her muzzle, Carl had no adverse reaction. If anything, she had already decided to send these people, who could not even let her eat breakfast in peace, straight to hell.

Carl adapted faster than she had thought she would. Not everyone could shoot and kill people less than half an hour after transmigrating, much less kill five in one go. Even the little demons in hell who could not receive souls would have worshipped her as an idol.

Hiding behind a dumpster and feeling the garbage-filled dumpster on her side being struck with muffled thumps, Carl felt that she had some inexplicable affinity with trash, no matter what kind of trash it was.

The recoil of a kinetic weapon was a little strong. Though she had made sure to grip it with both hands while firing, Carl's hands were still numb from the vibration. Fortunately, that slight numbness was also being adjusted by her memories, and it did not affect her ability to deal with those brats at all.

Sooner or later, I need to learn proper shooting stances and evasive maneuvers.

There was not much cover where Maelstrom and the Sixth Street Gang had clashed. Facing one direction had been manageable, but facing two at once, the Maelstrom members were no different from walking naked down the street. By the time Carl's gunfire stopped, all thirty-odd Maelstrom members had fallen to the ground, while only Oliver remained from the Sixth Street Gang.

Carl's slight anger had subsided.

The conflict was over. The matter was settled.