"General" Rick Morton is dead. Is that big news? Absolutely. It's the kind of news WNS would run a special feature on—though likely not a ve
"General" Rick Morton is dead. Is that big news?
Absolutely. It's the kind of news WNS would run a special feature on—though likely not a very sympathetic one, considering everyone knows Arasaka is behind WNS. Rick Morton, leader of the 6th Street Gang, had ties to Militech. If anything, Channel 54—the network backed by Militech—might air a tribute instead.
Predictably, it wouldn't take long for the news to spread across Night City. And with it, the gang wars would inevitably follow.
It's a simple equation.
When a gang boss dies, it doesn't matter how—it sets off a purge as the new leader rises. That process always weakens the gang. And once weakened, they can't hold all their territory. Some of it will have to be given up.
"Valentinos, Tyger Claws, maybe even the Wraiths from the Badlands—they're all probably eyeing 6th Street right now."
Jack stepped out of the Delamain and turned to Oliver, who had just exited as well. "Looks like we showed up just in time."
"Didn't expect Will Cannon to make his move so soon. Guess he figured he had enough power to crush any internal resistance."
Oliver didn't feel much at the news of Rick's death. Despite being called "the General," Rick Morton didn't really treat his people with any real sense of leadership. The nickname came more from how casually he ordered around his troops—like a general treating soldiers as pawns. Truth was, Rick was incompetent. If he hadn't been, Will Cannon wouldn't have been able to build up a force that could challenge—let alone surpass—him.
Still, while Rick was alive, 6th Street could at least pretend to be stable. Supporters of both sides may have disliked each other, but they kept the peace out of a shared identity as 6th Street members. Now, with the General dead, even that illusion was gone.
"Oliver, you grew up in 6th Street. Who do you think did it?"
V stepped out of another Delamain, with T-BUG and Karl behind him. He looked at Oliver and asked, "Was it Will Cannon?"
"Ninety percent chance, yeah. Will's been eyeing the top spot forever. He just didn't have the power before, so he kept building up his influence. Eventually, he got strong enough to match Rick—and maybe even overtake him. You really think he'd keep tolerating a useless boss sitting above him?"
Oliver adjusted his jacket and nodded toward a modest American-style house in the distance.
"Cut off the head first. With Rick gone, there's no one left in the gang with the rep or record to challenge Will. If he plays it right, he won't even need to fight. He could just take over clean."
"Forced submission through momentum. Smart move. Aside from the diehards, the rest might fold just to avoid trouble."
Karl followed Oliver's gaze as the Delamain pulled away. They began walking toward the house. "But your uncle's not gonna go along with that, is he?"
"Like hell he is."
Oliver scoffed. "He and Will Cannon never got along. Then there was the whole mess when I got kicked out of the gang. That tore it for good. My old man? You tell him to kneel to Will Cannon, he'd rather die. Hell, he was grooming me to be his successor."
"You regret not becoming the gang's golden boy?"
"Regret? Not a chance. Becoming a merc with you guys? Best damn decision I've ever made. Compared to those days… this is paradise. 6th Street? More like Sixth Shit."
"If your uncle hears that, he'll probably tan your hide."
Karl laughed but nodded in understanding. "So even with Rick dead, your uncle's gonna fight?"
"Without a doubt. He's the type who can't stand by and let Rick's suspected killer take the throne."
A stubborn, old-school kind of man. The type that clashed with the modern world—but not necessarily in a bad way.
"Then I guess we know what we're doing next."
Jack grinned. "Remember when we passed through Santo Domingo on the way to the Badlands and Cannon's guys tried to block us? I've been waiting to repay that one."
As the group talked, they approached the humble-looking house. Inside, a father and daughter were having a conversation.
"You should leave."
Nottingham Winry sat on the couch, watching shifting gang reports on the screen. He looked at his daughter, Marian Winry, and said, "I'm going to the meeting to decide the next leader of 6th Street. It's going to be dangerous. You can't stay here."
"You're going to confront Will Cannon, aren't you, Father?"
Marian frowned. "Given the current state of things, there may not be many people left on your side."
"Doesn't matter."
Nottingham's tone was calm. "Just because no one else is willing to do the right thing doesn't mean I shouldn't. If Rick really was murdered by Will Cannon, there's no way I can let that man lead 6th Street. We're already slipping. His guys are shaking down locals for protection money. If this keeps up, we'll end up just like the Tyger Claws."
"But won't that be dangerous? We should call Oliver. He's gotten strong. If he's here, you might be safer."
Nottingham's expression shifted at her words.
Asking for help from your child—it wasn't easy. It meant acknowledging you were getting old. It meant admitting your child had grown up.
Had Oliver really grown? Or had he just been carried by the strength of the friends around him?
Nottingham didn't know. But he didn't have to. A voice rang out from beyond the door, answering the question for him.
"I'm back, old man."
Oliver Winry pushed the door open.
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