When Max stepped out of the car and into the hangar base, sothing imdiately caught him off guard, the sheer number of people.
It wasn't just the ten or so guys from the van.
There were way more.
Outside, so were lifting crates, hauling gear, or sparring in the dirt like it was routine. A couple of them were just goofing off, drifting cars in wide, loud circles, tires screeching against the cracked concrete.
In total, Max counted at least fifty mbers, maybe more. That was a lot. Sure, it matched the number of delinquents he'd fought back in school, but for a street gang? This was a whole different level.
Compared to a group like the Pit, these guys are stacked, Max thought. Bigger numbers usually an more power. And this isn't just a gang... this is sothing else.
The whole vibe... it feels like they're one step away from being classified as a full-blown organized cri group. But if they're still under soone else's command, then whoever's above them must be massive.
He followed Dud through the open hangar doors.
Inside, rows of long tables had been set up. Packages were being sorted, taped, labeled, loaded. Guys moved in and out with practiced efficiency. It looked less like a gang hideout and more like a small-scale shipping operation.
So this is it, Max thought. According to Dipter, this is where they got their packages. Dud's crew handles the intake, and Dipter's old crew handled distribution. That'd explain why they're so large, they're not just a gang. They're a subdivision. A part of sothing even bigger.
And I can't forget... sohow that idiot Chad managed to misplace one billion. A full billion, gone. That money's being filtered down through all the connected groups. Since Dud's crew is on the lower end of the ladder, they've probably only seen scraps of it... but even scraps from a billion could change everything.
As Max and Dud walked past the rows of tables, Max spotted a longer one set up at the very back of the hangar. Seated at the center was a man who stood out instantly, not just because of where he sat, but because of how he looked.
He wore a sharp waistcoat and a tall black top hat, like he'd stepped out of another era. Everything about him scread style and control. At his side stood another man, marked with the sa insignia Dud wore.
If they're running this place by rank, Max thought, then those two must be equals.
As they approached, the man in the top hat pressed his hands together with a warm, calculated smile.
Dud gestured for Max to sit in the open chair. Max slid into it without a word.
"I've been aning to et you for so ti now," the man said smoothly. "The one who took down Dipter."
His na was Chrono.
"I watched Dipter for a while. He was impressive, a strong student with vision. You could tell early on he wasn't built to follow. He was ant to lead. A bit like myself."
Chrono leaned forward slightly, his voice calm, but confident.
"That's why I offered him the chance to cut ties with his forr crew. To work directly with us, but still lead his own group. It was ant to be a partnership, mutual benefit."
Max nodded politely, but inside, he wasn't buying it. Sure, he thought, that's how it might've looked on the surface. But anyone who knew the ga understood what it really was.
This wasn't about partnerships. It was about control.
The Rejected Corps needed a street-level crew they could keep under their thumb. It was the fastest way to grow, use another gang as a puppet, and leverage that size to gain recognition from bigger syndicates. It was all about leveling up.
In the underground world, nas and rankings mattered more than most people realized. Street gangs, recognized groups, organized cri groups and syndicates, they were like different species in the sa food chain. And the only way to climb the ladder was by winning battles. Making noise. Crushing soone in the tier above you.
That's why newer gangs constantly started fights with the bigger players. That's how they earned a na. And it's why syndicates liked having smaller crews tied to them, it gave them extra reach, extra muscle, and fewer risks, and less fighting of their own.
Chrono smiled again, but Max already knew, behind that smile was a long ga. And Max was part of it now.
"I'll cut to the chase," Chrono said, leaning forward slightly. "Dipter and his crew were supposed to work directly under us. That was the deal."
He gave a small shrug, casual, almost amused.
"But then you all had so kind of high school drama, whatever. I don't care. Dipter's out of the picture. So now I've got a new proposal: I want you to take his place."
Max wasn't surprised.
This was one of the two outcos he'd already predicted. Either Chrono was going to eliminate him for disrupting business, maybe suspecting he was working with a rival group, or this. An offer. A replacent deal.
But considering everything so far, the first option didn't seem likely. Chrono clearly saw it all as a schoolyard scuffle that got out of hand, not a threat to his operation.
Max raised an eyebrow. "You want , a high schooler, to join a gang? To do what, exactly? And how do you know you can even trust ?"
Chrono chuckled. "I get it. Probably not what your guidance counselor had on the job board, huh?"
He leaned back, voice turning colder, more honest.
"But here's the truth: most of us in this life didn't choose it. We're not here because of so dream. We're here because we don't fit anywhere else. Guys like us, we speak with our fists. We solve problems by breaking things. That doesn't leave a lot of room for... respectable careers."
His eyes locked on Max's.
"You've got three roads in front of you: prison, the hospital, or this. And don't get wrong, even as a gangster, you'll still hit the first two eventually. There's no glamor here. It's not a movie. But if you're going down one of those paths no matter what... why not go down it rich? Why not take what you want while you're still standing, and maybe even rise to the top?"
Max didn't say anything at first, but he could tell one thing instantly.
Chrono was smooth. The kind of guy who knew exactly how to talk to a delinquent. How to sell power, freedom, and purpose to soone who felt like the world had already counted them out.
"I don't need to test your skills," Chrono added, his tone final. "If Dud didn't think you were good enough, you wouldn't be sitting here right now. That's why I sent him to find you."
"And don't worry," Chrono continued, his voice smooth, almost friendly. "What I had planned for Dipter? I'll offer the sa to you. Honestly, I didn't intend to keep using high schoolers like that idiot."
He tapped the table with two fingers, then slid sothing across it, a black card with a number printed clean across the front.
"I'm shifting the approach. I want talent. I'm offering you a direct placent with us. No middlen. When I need you, I'll call. Simple as that."
He gave Max a small nod.
"You're also free to bring anyone you trust. Anyone you think has what it takes to roll with us."
Max glanced at the card.
The way Chrono said it all made it sound like a choice, like Max could say no, walk away.
But they both knew that wasn't the case. This wasn't an offer he could say no to.
Max was in. Whether he wanted to be or not, whether the school was still his territory or not, he was now officially tied to the Rejected Corps. Chrono might have ambitions of growing his gang with actual talent, but that didn't change the fact that Max had just been absorbed into sothing bigger.
He gave a card, Max thought. But it might as well be a leash.
Chrono leaned back in his chair, calm and final.
"You're free to go now. I'll be calling you soon... and when I do, I expect you to pick up."
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