When everyone believes you have evidence, whether you actually do… doesn't matter anymore. Nottingham Winry's rigid principles and uptight p
When everyone believes you have evidence, whether you actually do… doesn't matter anymore.
Nottingham Winry's rigid principles and uptight personality came back to serve him—in the most ironic way.
Even his fiercest rival, Will Cannon, had believed he truly held damning proof. But Nottingham Winry… hadn't.
Everyone in 6th Street thought of him as just a rule-bound old man. But the truth is, someone who only plays by the rules doesn't survive long in gang politics. And they certainly don't raise a son like Oliver. Will Cannon had failed to see that—and that miscalculation cost him everything.
"Guess I should congratulate you—crown prince of 6th Street."
"Shut the fuck up, Carl."
Oliver glanced back at the barn, now rowdy with celebration after the election of the new gang boss. "I left 6th Street a long time ago. Don't pin that label on me."
"Still holding a grudge over getting booted after two weeks, huh?" Jack teased with a laugh. "Anyway, today worked out. We only came to help, and bam—perfect timing. My buddy's dad becomes the big boss. Kinda hard not to feel a little pumped."
"Come on, calling him the 'big boss' is a stretch." Oliver shrugged. "It's just a gang. He'll keep things running the way they've always been. Nothing's gonna change."
"Still better than Will Cannon shaking down Santo Domingo locals for eddies." V pointed toward the parked car. "C'mon, let's head back—T-Bug and your sister are waiting on the good news."
"T-Bug probably already told them. She's the one who hacked the gunman, remember? She's probably sipping tea right now." Oliver turned to Carl. "Hey, what do you think Will Cannon's biggest mistake was?"
"What is this, a post-op debrief?" Carl chuckled. "Learning from your enemy's screw-ups now?"
Then he answered anyway. "Honestly? Will's failure came down to something stupidly simple: he actually did it. He panicked. And he didn't have the muscle to back it up."
If Will had nothing to do with Rick's death, he would've been the obvious heir—undisputed. If he hadn't killed him, Nottingham's fake "evidence" would've been powerless. Hell, he could've flipped it around, demanded to see the proof, and made Nottingham look like the fool.
But instead, he did kill Rick.
And that would've been fine… if he'd had the strength to follow through.
But the hit failed. Nottingham survived. Will didn't have the full room's support—too many were just in it for profit. And when the profits dried up, so did their loyalty.
Put it all together, and yeah—Will Cannon never stood a chance.
"If he was really cut out for it, he wouldn't have waited this long. Rick would've been gone long ago and Will would be sitting in the boss's seat by now," Carl concluded.
"Yeah," Jack said as he slid into the car. He glanced back toward the barn. "You sure it's okay we took your dad's ride?"
"What, you think he's walking home?" Oliver smirked. "He's the new boss. Half the city's probably lining up to give him a lift."
He settled behind the wheel. His dad wasn't some lone soldier—he had people. Maybe not as many as Will had, but with Rick gone and Will's side scattered, Nottingham's crew now had the most boots on the ground. A ride wasn't going to be a problem.
"Looks like we can move around Santo Domingo freely again," V said from the backseat. "I remember when you got that warning—'don't come back.' Not that we ever cared, but now? Feels like that warning's officially dead."
"Pretty much."
Oliver's hands rested on the wheel. "If anyone still has the balls to come after us, I'd be impressed."
"If they did, they would've moved when Will was still breathing," V muttered. Then he paused, thinking. "Now that your dad's in charge of Santo Domingo, and Deputy Chief Johnson's still at the NCPD… doesn't that mean smuggling through the Badlands just got a whole lot easier?"
V's nomad instincts kicked in. With the territory clear, the first thing on his mind was logistics.
"Gang bosses and city officials working together, huh?" Carl raised an eyebrow. "Classic Night City. What are you thinking of moving? If we act as middlemen, everyone gets rich. 6th Street doesn't need protection rackets, Johnson can keep the cops geared up..."
He tapped his chin. "That clears the city side. For the Badlands, we'd need a nomad clan to handle cargo runs."
"I know one," V said casually. "There's a tribe camped just outside Night City."
Carl narrowed his eyes, recalling recent intel.
"…The Aldecaldos?"
He thought back to what he knew about them. A massive nomad family, supposedly over a million strong, split into smaller factions. Each acted like its own tribe—and one such faction had recently shown up near the city.
"So you're saying… we make a deal with the Aldecaldos?" Carl asked. He didn't have much of an opinion on nomads—just knew a few of them. This one, he'd defer to V.
"We can try," V nodded. "The Aldecaldos are legit. Good rep. They don't screw people over."
Worth a shot.
NCPD, 6th Street, and the Aldecaldos—running smuggling ops through Night City?
Now that had potential.
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