In all their history of clashing, the Rejected Corps had always been the smaller gang.
When it ca to business dealings, manpower, and territory, the Chalk Line Boys were the bigger player. They had resources, connections, and years of embedded influence.
The Chalk Line Boys owned multiple restaurants and pool halls scattered across the district of Brinehurst—the poorest part of Notting Hill, but still their stronghold.
It was partly because of that location that the Rejected Corps had set their sights on them in the first place. To Chrono and his crew, they had seed like the perfect stepping stone—a lower-level organized group that could be taken down. Crushing them would elevate the Rejected Corps from a street gang to a recognized organized force.
The two sides had fought each other again and again. Skirmishes in back alleys. Brawls that left mbers hospitalized. Scores settled and then reignited in an endless cycle. But after all the blood and broken bones, things had co to this—a eting.
A chance to end it, or at least to change it.
"Four of you, stay outside," Chrono ordered as they arrived at the Chalk Line Boys’ mountain stronghold. "We never know what could happen. We have to be prepared for anything."
Four mbers of the Rejected Corps imdiately took position outside the large double doors. Across from them, four mbers of the Chalk Line Boys stood as well, hands tucked casually into pockets, eyes sharp.
It was more than just security—it was a statent. A silent reminder that, despite the eting, these were still two rival gangs. Neither side trusted the other not to pull sothing.
Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with caution.
These n had fought each other too many tis, so even maiming or killing mbers of the other side. The bad blood between them ran deep, and while both leaders had agreed to et, every soldier in the room knew how quickly things could turn.
The Rejected Corps entered the grand dining hall, their boots echoing against the polished floor. Without a word, they moved to the right side of the venue, facing the Chalk Line Boys, who lined up on the opposite side.
Two forces staring each other down—like armies before a battle.
Then, with one man accompanying Montez and another walking beside Chrono, the two leaders stepped forward. They reached the long rectangular table at the exact sa ti and sat opposite each other, the air between them crackling with tension.
On the table, there was a thick stack of papers with a pen placed neatly beside it. Another pen lay on the opposite side.
Chrono smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m happy to hear that you finally saw the advantage of our situation," he said. "I didn’t want this to turn into an all-out fight if we could avoid it. Less blood spilled is better for all of us. And although you might feel the sting at the start..." His tone shifted, almost persuasive. "...I’m sure you’ll see the benefit in the long run."
Taking one of the papers from his side of the table, Montez began to sign them one by one, each movent deliberate. The sound of the pen scratching across the page seed to echo in the tense silence. He slid each completed page into a growing pile.
"Don’t rub it in, Chrono," Montez said, his voice carrying a warning edge. "Push it too far, and you know this whole room can still turn into a bloodbath. It was hard enough to convince everyone to agree to this as it is."
What was happening here was nothing less than an agreed takeover. Everything that belonged to the Chalk Line Boys—every business, every property, every profitable contact—was being signed over to the Rejected Corps.
After countless fights, the Chalk Line Boys had been forced to face reality: their strength was inferior. Their operations had been disrupted again and again, and it was only a matter of ti before they lost not just their business, but so of their most powerful mbers as well.
Yet a full-out war wasn’t good for either side. That much, everyone knew. So an agreent had been struck.
The Rejected Corps would absorb the Chalk Line Boys into their ranks, taking full control of their business empire. In return, the Chalk Line Boys would receive a small percentage of the profits and be recognized as senior mbers of the now larger, stronger gang.
It ant taking an initial hit in earnings, but the promise was that—once expansion began—they would all eventually profit. Of course, everyone also understood that the real windfall would go to the Rejected Corps leader and his inner circle.
As Montez signed the final few papers, he couldn’t help but think about how it had co to this.
The Rejected Corps are just too skilled... too organized. Their fighters are disciplined, coordinated, dangerous. Our last hope was that damned Dud... but he’s vanished. No one knows where he is. With that, my options ran out. I had no choice but to do this.
Chrono watched from across the table, eyes fixed on the docunts. The mont Montez was done, Chrono reached forward, ready to add his own signature and seal the deal.
When the last pen stroke was made, the Rejected Corps would no longer be just a street gang—they would be recognized as an organized group. Not the biggest, not the most powerful, but strong enough to make even the Black Hounds think twice about trying to crush them for leaving their control.
Chrono was about to take another step toward his goal. What he didn’t know was that the details of today’s eting had already been leaked.
Outside, the guards stood stiffly at their posts, eyes constantly shifting between each other. Both sides were locked in an unspoken stare-down, trading glares and silent challenges.
Then, one of the Rejected Corps lookouts squinted toward the winding path that led up to the restaurant. Perched at this mountain peak, they had a clear view of anyone approaching.
The first thing they saw was a flash of red hair.
"What the...?" one of the guards muttered. He leaned forward for a better look. "Am I seeing things? Is that... Max?"
Monts later, the figure stepped fully into view. Max was walking toward them, the Bloodline jacket vivid against the muted tones of the mountain road.
"Hah! What the hell? Why has he co here?" another guard said, a mocking grin spreading across his face. "Does he seriously have a death wish? We’ve been looking for him everywhere, and he decides to just walk up now, of all days?"
But as they jeered, the laughter began to die in their throats.
Because Max wasn’t alone.
As he continued forward, shapes began to erge from behind him—dozens at first, then more... and more... until it was clear there were hundreds following in his wake.
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