((Time for another installment. Sorry for the wait. Life's been hell lately but I'll try to update as quickly as I can. This fanfic should be read alongside GTA V: Episodes from Los Santos: Ballad of A Cholo by Native Guns 13 as it features crossovers. Without much ado lets hop into it.))

His name was Ernesto Roberto Jesus Mendoza but to the world he was known as Flaco. At five foot five with a medium build, tanned skin, and brown eyes; he was an unassuming Mexican. There was nothing about him to distinguish him from a group of his peers. Flaco personally liked it that way, he rather anonymity over fame any day. Almost all the other famous shotcallers in the Vagos were dead or imprisoned. Flaco preferred to remain the anonymous shotcaller that was enjoying life outside the big house and above the ground. Flaco took a hit off a joint of marijuana and sucked down the smoke before releasing it through his nostrils. He looked at the soldato standing before him and shook his head.

"You shitting me." Flaco said giving the man an arched eyebrow look.

"No Flaco I'm telling you." The Vagos member said shaking his head for emphasis. "I just got off the phone with Toker. You know he still cool with that Joker from the Mara Buntas."

Flaco nodded at that. He still wasn't too accepting of the MB-13, not that long ago the Mara Bunta had been rivals after all, but he didn't actively seek trouble with them. Both the MB-13 and the Vagos were under La Onda rule and La Onda rule dictated that all petty rivalries must end. Flaco was no coward but ignoring La Onda was not bravery, it was just stupid.

"I don't believe it." Flaco said taking another pull off the stick of weed.

"It's the truth I swear to it." The Vagos Soldata insisted.

"You're telling me that one Negron rolled through Burro and dropped half the MB-13?" Flaco laughed.

"He wasn't no chavala, carnal." The Soldato continued. He was trying his best to get his shotcaller to understand the full extent of the threat as it had been explained to him. "He hit them hard and fast and was gone before anyone could even react. He killed at least eighteen of them. They call to warn us that they might be hitting up the Vagos next, and who better than us? You know we been giving them Ballas hell."

"How do you know it was the Ballas?"

"Toker said Joker said one of his little peewees made the puta Negron. Recognized him from Brough Ave."

"That's Ballas turf alright." Flaco said nodding his head. "Burns's team. Same puta punks we ripped off for the key a coka."

Flaco got up off the rickety sofa that he was seated on and walked over the pizza boxes and beer cans that littered the stained floor. He headed to the room's single window which looked out over the front parking lot of the Reacharound Apartments. There four stories below there were a couple of sets of his homies milling around slinging rocks, smoking pot, drinking, and just plain chilling out. The Reacharound was essentially owned and controlled by the Vagos gang. In fact, the current owner was the parent of a Vagos gangmember. It was a stronghold. No single nigger coming through there looking for trouble could hope to accomplish anything but tossed open the window and took a deep whiff of the late vening air. It was laden with the smell of exhaust and marijuana, commonplace for air in the hood. Still, Flaco thought, discretion was the better part of valor. One nigger was not a threat but he would put the homies on alert just in case. The shotcaller closed the window and turned back to his subordinate.

"Tell the homies to keep an eye out, carnal." Flaco said. "Tell them no niggers in or_"

The shotcaller stopped talking when he saw his soldier's eyes widened in shock. Flaco spun around just in time to see a black clad man crashing in through the glass window he had just stepped away from with a horrible din. He watched in numbed disbelief for a second as the man sliced a grappling line from around his waist and straightened up. It was only then that Flaco gave out a shout of alarm and reached for the gun at his waist.

Something slammed heavily into his stomach, planting him firmly on his ass. He looked down and stared at the knife that was now protruding from his gut dumbly.

"Ouch." He muttered softly. He looked up at the man who had just entered so unconventionally and jerked in fear to see that the man was now aiming a gun straight towards him.

"No!" Flaco screamed. The gun spat fire and something rushed over the shotcaller's head. A second later there was the thump of a body hitting the floor as the soldier's lifeless corpse crumpled.

"You Flaco?" The man asked in a cultured voice that was at odds with the steady way he trained the gun in between the shotcaller's eyes.

"You stabbed me." Flaco groaned out the pain finally setting in and chasing away the shock. "You stabbed me!"

The intruder stepped forward and viciously pistol-whipped Flaco to the forehead. Lights and colors exploded in front of Flaco's sight as excruciating agony ran through the length and width of his skull.

"I asked you a question."

"I am." Flaco moaned.

"I was sent to kill you."

The cold certain way that the words were spoken chilled Flaco to the marrow. His gut clenched and loosened, spilling the contents out unto his pants.

"No, no, no." Flaco said softly shaking his head. "I don't wanna die men. Don't kill me. I've got money! Take it! Just don't kill me!"

"Relax." The intruder said in a light voice. "I won't kill ya."

The intruder stepped forward and took careful aim before pulling the trigger. Flaco's scream was highpitch enough to break class as his left knee cap was blasted into jelly. The agony redoubled when a bullet found its way into the right kneecap as well.

"Unless I'm much mistaking that's a wheel chair." The intruder said cheerfully. He stepped forward and pistolwhipped the now near unconscious Flaco against the side of the face knocking a few teeth loose.

"Tell your punk ass set of spics who did this to you." The intruder growled. "Tell them this is what happen when you try to rip off the Ballas. If you want a bit of revenge you know where to find us but if you try I'll come back and I won't be so nice."

Flaco could do nothing more than whimper in pain, tears streaming down his eyes.

"One more thing." The intruder said taking careful aim with his gun once more. "Don't know why god gave you wetback bitches nuts but I'll fix that now. Say goodbye to them."

For the fourth time a shot echoed throughout the room and for the third time Flaco screamed but the scream he issued now paled the previous two. He screamed up until he passed out from the pain. Flaco welcomed the darkness and the release from torment.

With quick and precise movements Troy thumbed shells into his depleted clip before slapping it back into the gun and sliding it back. Already he heard pounding feet and shouted questions from outside the apartment. Wait for it…..wait for it….. The door to the apartment shuddered then was kicked open. Before the door had touched the wall Troy was firing. He stood with both legs slightly spread and both hands fully extended and clutching the gun. Three Vagos members went down before they had a chance to react, the fourth and fifth took cover behind the doorway and began bindfiring into the room. Troy tossed himself to the left with a curse. He rolled along the filthy debris ridden ground and took cover behind the rickety chair that Flaco had been sitting in minutes before.

Another Vagos member came charging into the room spraying bullets and shouting at the top of his voice. Troy coolly aimed one-handed and gave him a third eye in the middle of his forehead. The man staggered back one step before falling dead to the floor in the doorway. Troy reached for the shotgun dangling around his back and then he took careful aim before firing into several points along the wall. Adrenaline rushed through him causing him to breath fast and hard. The shockwave of power flowing up from the gun and through his hand every time he pulled the trigger… that was what it was all about. That was true power. There was a scream of pain from outside the apartment indicating that one of Troy's shotgun blasts had found its mark. Troy quickly swung the weapon and fired into another part of the wall. Another scream of agony occurred. You've got to love ghetto ass apartments with cheap ass walls. Hearing no further noises but painful moaning from outside the apartment; Troy hurried forward towards the door, intent on getting out of the apartment and away from the building before the wetbacks really got their panties up in a bunch.

He had taken only three steps when something landed directly in front of him with a dull thump, tossed in from outside the apartment. It took Troy one second to identify the object and another second to turn around and launch himself across the room in the opposite direction. He had only just made it to the window and tossed one foot over the sill when the grenade exploded with a thunderous crack and a huge force wave punched Troy from behind propelling him forward through the window.

For a few seconds he was weightless as he freefell the twenty feet. He landed amid a set of accumulated bags of garbage with a very wet thud. Troy lay where he fell dazed and moaning. Pain wracked all parts of his body. It came to him through every sense he possessed. A heavy metallic taste on his mouth. A dull persistent ringing in his ears. Splotches of colors across his sight. And even a weird wet smell in his nose. It felt like every single one of his bones were broken. As it was he was very grateful that the people of that apartment complex had such a poor garbage disposal service. By all rights he should be meeting the devil.

Move nigga…Move. To not move was to die. Already he was hearing shouts and calls from all over. Troy rolled himself unto his side before raising himself to his knees. His whole body felt weak but he had to move. He had to go. He managed to fight his way to his feet. Once again the sound of gunshots began cracking the mid-afternoon air. Once again bullets began raining down around Troy's head. Reaching for the last reservoirs of his greatly depleted strength Troy launched himself into a full off sprint. Twice he was struck in the back causing him to stumble but he kept on moving in a forward direction, taxing his body to its very limit. He ran for everything that he was worth. A quick look behind him showed him at least two dozen Vagos Locos members in hot pursuit and all of them were packing various weapons; some held bats, others pool sticks, crowbars, clawed hammers, cleavers, and most often firearms. It was like a scene straight from hell.

Troy redoubled his speed. The look behind him showed him that he was not going as fast as he thought he could. Not nearly as fast. He fairly burst from the parking lot unto the main street that ran before the Reacharound Apartments. A purple Esperanto screeched to a halt a mere feet from Troy and began blowing furiously. Without any ceremony the hitman made a rush for the vehicle. He wrenched the door open and socked the screaming woman currently in the driver's seat directly to the side of the head. He then seized her by the arm and yanked her from the car. Troy jumped into the driver's seat and fairly mashed the gas with all his might.

The tires of the Esperanto screeched and spat smoke as the car's v8 engine propelled it forward like a bat from hell. The back windshield shattered and a bullet struck Troy in the shoulder instantly numbing his entire arm. Even though the vest held out he shouted out in pain and bent low in his seat, doing his best to minimize the risk of getting hit by another bullet. Bullets continued impacting on the car for several more seconds before Troy managed to escape the firing range. He careened down a side street and then down an alley so narrow that both the mirrors were ripped from the vehicle. Three garbage can and one very unfortunate pedestrian fell victim to Troy's rush for safety. He kept on driving like a demon for several more blocks before finally slowing down and easing into the flow of traffic. Troy breathed heavily as he took the loll to catalogue his injuries. His entire body was just one big bruise and he was going to look very ugly in the morning but nothing appeared to be broken, a miracle after a fall from such a high place. Seeking to get his mind off his discomfort Troy fiddled with the radio of the car. It was the evening news.

"In other news there has still been no progress on the murder of prominent car salesmen Simeon Yeterian. Judging from the description of the two suspects that allegedly carried out the crime, police suspects the involvement of one or more of Los Santos's Latino gangs. Today the chief of police issued this statement

The crisp and professional female voice morphed into a gruff manly drawl.

"we suspect the involvement of one or more of these Latino gangs in the killing. We are currently following up several leads that point us in the direction of these vicious Mexican criminals. Though ninety nine percent of Mexican immigrants are law abiding hard working and constructive citizen there is that one percent that exists solely to be a plague on our beautiful city. The LSPD is dedicated to doing all we can to stomp out that one percent…..

Troy tuned out the rambling of the police chief as his mind switched to what he had to do next. The Mara Bunta's were down and so were the Vagos. That left the Aztecas and Families. He would hit the Families up next, he decided. He would do it gangland style, a good old fashion driveby. He usually hated being so indiscriminate but he was tired and aching and just wanted this to be done so he could crawl into bed and sleep for a week. Two hours later Troy's phone began to ring as he passed out of Rancho and into Strawberry. Troy grimaced when he fished the device from his pocket and held it up to view a completely shattered screen. It was brand new too. After a few seconds of gingerly tapping the destroyed screen he managed to answer the unknown number.

"Hello?" Troy said cautiously.

"I'm looking for a troubleshooter." A rather annoying nasally voice replied from the other end of the line.

"You found one." Troy said a tad bit more relax. "Whose calling?"

"A friend that can help." The voice replied simply. "Number sixty nine Swirl Road. Murrieta Heights."

With that the line went dead. Troy slipped his phone back into his pocket frowning. In the end he decided that it wasn't a wetback ambush, it wasn't possible for any of them to know him as the Troubleshooter; at least not so quickly. He would go to the address and see what it was about but he would go ready for trouble as always. In the meantime it was back to the business at hand. There were some leprechauns that needed culling. Troy gave a bloody smile and stomp on the gas. It was once again time to do what he did best.

A crash in his kitchen was what woke Burn's from a light nap. He immediately sat up bleary eyed and head pounding. fuck, he thought, I hate it when I drink so much. With a groan he put his feet on the ground and massaged his temples. That was when he heard the footsteps and his blood went cold. Someone was in his house! Someone was in his motherfucking house! Wild thoughts of murder and tribulation ran through his head for a second before he sprang into action. Hangover instantly forgotten the OG leapt to his feet and rushed over to the front door. His trusty shotgun leant against the wall right beside it. So close yet so far...just a few more steps. It was not to be. As Burns passed the adjoining kitchen entrance a shadowy black shape rushed out of it and slammed into him at a thousand miles per hour. Burns was a big man but even he couldn't withstand the head-on collision. He went careening to the left and made contact with a couch. Both he and couch tumbled to the ground in a sprawl of limbs and furniture. The Ballas OG kicked the chair away from him and jumped to his feet with a shout of wrath. There...before him...the intruder! It was a man. A slightly built white man just a bit taller than Burns himself. The man was dressed in an expensive looking black casual suit, the minute Perseus logo could be made out on the left pocket of the coat, over a red dress shirt and loafers shined to a mirror sheen. The man looked to be in his late thirties and he was watching Burns calmly which enraged the Ballas OG even further.

"You mothafucking white rat!" Burns bellowed. "What the fuck you doing in ma house men?"

"I am looking for Troy Martinez." The man replied in an even tone. His voice was melancholic, the voice of one who had seen and done far too much to remain unchanged, and carried a trace of European accent.

"Fuck you!" Burns shouted. With that he bomb-rushed the stranger, fist swinging to deliver a knockout right hook. With a speed that was impossible the stranger ducked under the punch and slammed a knee directly into Burn's groin. The Balla doubled over with a gasp as pain exploded into his nether regions. From the corner of his right eye Burns saw a movement before stars exploded into his vision as a fist made contact with his right temple. He toppled and then fell to the ground like a poleaxed cat. It was just then that Burn's phone began ringing. He lay on the ground stunned and dazed while the intruder calmly reached into his pocket and took out the phone, the man made no attempt to answer it. Finally the voicemail clicked on and there was silence for a moment before Troy's voice came on.

"Yo B I'm making good time bro. Only two more of our friends left to get presents. I'm about to go visit Frank and them over in Strawberry before heading out to see the Aztecs."

With that Troy clicked off.

"Well, well, well." The intruder murmured. "That was lucky."

Burns groaned and managed to get up to his hands and knees. The pain from his groin was intense.

"You motherfucker." He snarled. "I'll fucking kill you!'

"I will go and pay your friend a visit." The intruder informed Burns. "I cannot have you ruining the surprise though. It will be best for all concern if you go to sleep for a while."

"You motha_" That was all Burns managed to get out before there was an excruciating agony on the top of his head and he fell to the ground once more, blackness swimming on the edge of his vision. He fought it with everything that he had but in the end it proof to be stronger. The last thing that Burns heard before slipping into unconsciousness were footsteps.

((For those who are reading Native Guns 13 fanfic you will get the mention of Joker. This and the next chapter is set to be running concurrently with Guns latest chapter 'Payback'. As always; read, review, and enjoy. xD

P.S. It was Niko who attacked Burns in case anyone didn't catch it.))