Will Cannon personally stabbing the gunman to death stunned everyone present. No one expected such decisive action—he didn't even allow a ch
Will Cannon personally stabbing the gunman to death stunned everyone present. No one expected such decisive action—he didn't even allow a chance for questioning. He silenced the man with his own hands, and with that desperate act, one truth became glaringly obvious: the shooter had been his man.
What baffled many was why Will had gone that far. Even if the gunman had confessed that Will ordered the hit, he could've easily blamed the Tiger Claws. "A scheme to sow discord," he could've said. Nobody liked the Tiger Claws anyway, and they'd certainly pulled stunts like this before. From the outside, Will's move seemed panicked—almost clumsy.
Was he panicking?
Maybe. But clumsy? Not quite.
Will Cannon didn't rise through the ranks on brawn and empty promises alone. He wasn't stupid. You don't get to the top of a gang with over two thousand core members and tens of thousands of affiliates through street tricks alone.
No, Will had a reason.
He killed the gunman to gauge Oliver—still, in Will's eyes, just a "kid." He wanted to see if Oliver would try to stop him. That reaction would reveal how damning Nottingham Winry's evidence really was. If Oliver had intervened, maybe it meant Nottingham still needed that shooter alive. But Oliver didn't move.
And that told Will everything.
No hesitation. No action. That meant the evidence was ironclad. Nottingham didn't need the shooter anymore—whatever he had was enough to destroy Will Cannon.
Will clenched his teeth.
Damn Nottingham Winry… I underestimated that old man. He waited for the perfect moment to strike.
Still—he hadn't lost. Not yet.
He still had options.
Thud.
The shooter's eyes widened in disbelief as he collapsed to the floor. Will Cannon stepped back, and his personal guards immediately formed a protective barrier.
With a Kerenzikov in his system, guards using Sandevistans, and others sporting subdermal armor, Will was still safe. He didn't fear Oliver, not yet.
He knew one thing for certain: becoming boss of 6th Street was no longer an option.
That ship had sailed.
Now, it was all about survival.
He could still defect to the Tiger Claws. Spill everything he knew about 6th Street. Trade secrets for a seat at their table. Sure, the Claws hated 6th Street, and Arasaka and Militech were enemies—but both had a soft spot for valuable traitors.
He'd find a place. He wasn't finished yet.
And the more he offered, the better his odds.
"Kill them."
The order came suddenly—and caught many off guard.
Why such a drastic move? Why turn so fast?
But they also understood—this ruthlessness is exactly what got Will to where he was.
Still… most of his men didn't move.
They weren't loyal. They were opportunists. After seeing how Will treated his own man, they had one foot out the door already. And their orders had been specific: act after Will became boss. But now?
He wasn't the boss. He was a traitor on borrowed time. Why stick their necks out?
But some—his true loyalists—did move. No hesitation. They raised their weapons.
Target: Oliver and Nottingham.
The real threats.
Oliver sighed. "So it's come to this."
In the end, it always came down to strength.
And that was fine.
You don't pass the torch in a gang without blood being spilled.
And if you play dirty, don't expect others to play clean.
Tat-tat-tat.
A flurry of bullets ripped through the air.
And then—steel flashed.
Clang! Clang-clang, clang!
A blur moved through the barn, slicing through the air with a thermal katana.
Because of the summit's rules, all they carried were pistols. But their Lexingtons were no match for high-grade alloy and heat-treated steel.
"Lexingtons, huh? Bit underwhelming," V muttered, blade in hand, appearing beside Oliver as the 6th Street elders stared in shock.
One voice didn't appreciate the comment.
"Excuse me? My Eternight is a modded Lexington," Carl grumbled, flicking a small knife between his fingers as he shifted back to his usual face.
"Sorry. This road's closed," Jack smirked, stepping in to block Will's escape route. "Boss hasn't been chosen yet. Walking out now would just be rude."
If we're playing by the rules—then play by the rules. If not? Then we don't either.
Everyone's got their crew. So let's throw down.
Thud.
Will Cannon was now on his knees in the center of the barn. Oliver stood over him, unmoving. Will had lost everything.
By ordering his men to open fire on fellow gang members, he broke the code. His standing in 6th Street was gone.
And now that Karl's squad had shown up, there was no escape. Still, even in defeat, Will had one lingering question.
He stared up at Nottingham Winry, defiant to the last.
"How the hell did you get that evidence? I cleaned up everything..."
He expected a straight-laced answer. Cold logic. Maybe even a list of his mistakes.
But Nottingham… smiled.
The famously old-fashioned, by-the-book man—smiled.
And said:
"I didn't have any evidence. I bluffed you."
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