The Sixth Street Gang.
Once, they were a group of idealistic war veterans from the Fourth Corporate War. Disillusioned by the corruption and inaction of the NCPD, they banded together, swearing to protect the people of Night City's Heywood district. They wore the badge of community defenders, veterans turned vigilantes—fighters of injustice.
But time, as always, changed things.
Their righteous cause dissolved into a mask, a banner under which they now operated no differently from any other street gang. Their original mission—to protect—was now a cruel joke. Extortion, intimidation, arms trafficking, car theft… the Sixth Street Gang had their fingers in every dirty pie imaginable.
They didn't fight to protect anymore. They fought to dominate.
Small businesses throughout Heywood had no choice but to pay them "protection money" if they wanted their windows intact the next day. Their enemies disappeared in mysterious shootouts. Their influence grew like a virus. And now, they were pushing into Vanodia territory.
Jack and the Vanodia crew were only minutes away from the frontline when the sound of gunfire began to echo in the distance. The dull thump of explosives followed, shaking the ground and rattling the windows of their armored vehicles.
Bang-bang-bang!
BOOM!
"Gunshots—cannons too!" someone in the back yelled.
Everyone in the vehicle tensed up. Rifles were locked and loaded. Cyber-optics glowed red as augmented vision systems activated. Jack, sitting beside Ogul, leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
Outside the windshield, a dense wall of smoke loomed ahead. The entire block was cloaked in a gray haze, the air thick with gunpowder and burnt concrete. Fires danced in the distance, casting flickering shadows across the crumbling buildings.
Ogul slammed his palm on the dashboard. "Those Sixth Street sons of bitches went too far this time!"
He gritted his teeth, voice sharp with fury. "They actually brought heavy weapons into our neighborhood? What the hell are they thinking?!"
He turned to his crew. "Everyone, get ready! Lock and load—we're going in hot!"
"YES!!" the Vanodia soldiers roared.
Weapons clicked. Mags slid into place. Barrels were cocked. The back doors of the armored truck popped open with a hiss, revealing rows of gang members locked and loaded.
Behind them, in a beat-up but sturdy old car, Mrs. Wells followed close. She wasn't supposed to be here, but worry for her son kept her behind the wheel. When she saw the destruction ahead, her face went pale.
Burnt-out buildings. Collapsed storefronts. A wall scorched black from an explosion.
"My God…" she whispered.
This wasn't just a turf war. It was a full-on battle zone.
Slamming her foot down on the gas pedal, she surged forward, trying to catch up with Jack. But—
BOOM!
A blast up ahead sent a thick slab of concrete crashing down into the street, completely blocking her path. Dust filled the air. The sound of gunfire roared like thunder. Brakes screeched as she came to a grinding halt.
"Goddammit!" she hissed, pounding the wheel.
She threw open the door, climbed out, and sprinted toward the side of a nearby building. Pulling a pair of old but reliable binoculars from her coat, she climbed to the rooftop and scanned the area.
Smoke. Fire. Bullets. And Jack… somewhere in the middle of it all.
"Jack, you little bastard," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare die on me."
Meanwhile, deep within the base zone of the Vanodia Gang's local hub, Jack and Ogul's strike team had just arrived under heavy cover. They bolted into the shattered remains of a building, bullets zipping past their heads as they reached the inner stronghold.
There, crouched behind makeshift barricades of sandbags and overturned tables, were Arad and his battered squad.
They looked like they'd been through hell—faces blackened with soot, jackets torn, weapons nearly out of ammo. One guy had blood trickling down his cheek. Another had wrapped a belt around his thigh to stop the bleeding.
"Arad!" Ogul shouted, crouching beside him. "What the hell happened here?! I thought this was just another turf scuffle!"
Arad spat dust out of his mouth and shook his head in frustration. "Hell no! This is something else entirely!"
He wiped grime from his face and pointed toward the street. "At noon today, those Sixth Street bastards just stormed in. No warning, no message. They rolled up in armored trucks, heavy mechs, and even some drone support! Started demanding we pay them protection fees—for our own territory!"
"Are you serious?!" Jack said, stunned.
"They fired the first shots," Arad growled. "And they came ready. They've got military-grade tech—grenade launchers, smart guns, you name it."
One of the other Vanodia members leaned in. "They even had one of those damn 'Sentry Spiders' with them—quad-legged mini tanks. Tore through half our block like tissue paper."
Ogul cursed under his breath. "They're making a real push. This isn't just a robbery. They're trying to take over."
"No shit." Arad looked around at his squad. "We've been pinned down for almost an hour. If you guys hadn't come now, we'd be toast."
Jack took a deep breath, then looked outside through a broken window. Through the haze, he could see movement—shadows advancing. Gunmen in Sixth Street colors, helmets on, armor glinting under the flickering streetlights.
They were coming again.
Jack turned back to the group.
"Ogul, Arad, listen," he said. "We can't hold this building. If they push in with more explosives, we'll be buried alive."
"Agreed," Ogul said. "So what's the move?"
Jack looked around. His eyes settled on the alley running behind the building.
"We flank them," he said. "Hit them from behind while they're focused on this front line. Divide their fire. Force them to retreat."
"It's risky," Arad said. "They might have backup units watching the perimeter."
Jack smirked. "Then let's hope they're as cocky as they look."
Ogul clapped him on the back. "Now you're talking like one of us again."
"Just for today," Jack replied. "I've got someone I need to answer to after this."
"David?" Arad asked.
Jack nodded. "Yeah. This isn't just gang politics anymore. This is about showing these punks that we're not rolling over. Not for anyone."
Ogul raised his fist. "Let's show them what Vanodia is made of!"
The rest of the gang roared in unison, raising their weapons high.
They were bloodied—but not broken.
And the Sixth Street Gang was about to find out that starting a war was easy… but finishing one?
That was a whole different game.
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