Disclamier: Don't own anything apart from invented characters etc

Dylan Garnier pulled up into the drive and turned the ignition off of his beat up Oceanic. He lay back in his seat, fanning himself with 'The Do's and Don't of C.R.A.S.H' . He closed his eyes, but the bloody image of the man his mentor shot earlier today was all he could see. Maybe this new venture wasn't the thing for him, C.R.A.S.H or 'Community Resources Against Street Hoodlums' sounded pretty appealing back in Liberty. 'Clean up the gritty East side, learn new skills in communication and negotiations, do your part for the Los Santos community' That's what it said in the brochure, but so far all his mentor had taught him was 'If any Mexican looks at you funny, shoot the motherfucker.' Officer Polaski' was pretty much the epitome of a racist, no problem for Dylan, being a Caucasian American. So Dylan left college and flew south, filled in an application and was now training to be part of the small team that made up the anti-gang unit. So far his stay hadn't been the best, it was to hot for a start, all the radio DJ's seemed mentally retarded apart from 'Julio G' who was encouraging exactly the thing Dylan was trying to oppose and no to mention his neighbours flat had recently been burgled.

'Hey holmes are you alright,' there was a tap on the window. Dylan opened his eyes to his, strong, fierce looking Hispanic neighbour, a friendly guy that went by the name Cesar Vialpando. He lived a few doors down, well lived probably wasn't the right word, he came and went, a brand new moded car in the drive every other week. Dylan was sure the guy slept with a gun under his pillow or a spanner, by the looks from some of his vehicles. Cesar knew Dylan was a cop in training, maybe rubbing shoulders with this guy would offer some advantage for his gang when they got in trouble. Dylan gave him the thumbs up and got out of the car. One of East Beach's finest sunsets, unfortunately tattered as cars sped down the freeway. The apartment he was renting out wasn't to bad, a 2 storey building, murky white, a few palm trees here and there. He was pretty lucky to be living here, he was originally going to buy a place in East Los Santos, but as he was about to strike the deal with the estate agent a round of bullets flew through the kitchen window, he didn't exactly want shrapnel in his soup. Though it would be a matter of weeks before he had to start house hunting again, he was renting this place from a couple who had gone on holiday. He entered the house and went straight for the bath room, and splashed some water on his sweaty face. He looked at his reflection in the full length mirror. He whistled, he didn't look half bad in the cop uniform. The dark blue highlighted his black mop-styled hair and lightly tanned skin. He was a pretty ordinary looking guy, he didn't give off a threatening vibe, or a 'don't mess with me or I'll shoot you up the ass' expression. Hazel eyes, even toned skin, your average Joe. He continued strutting around the mirror for a bit until his cell phone went off.

'Hey kid'

'Polaski?'

'Yep we got a bit of a disturbance down East Los Santos,' drawled the slimy voice of Eddie Polaski 'Those green vegetables think they have balls,' Dylan didn't know what to say to this.

'Uh-huh,' he ventured.

'Gawd kid don't sound so fricken surprised, we do get off our asses sometimes, well you will be, just go down there and calm it down.'

'Alone, sodding hell man I don't even have a gun!'

'Enough of that attitude, they'll be one lying around, you applied for the job, go do it you stupid wuss,' he cut off.

'Shit!' All Dylan was equipped with was some cuffs and pepper spray. He grabbed his keys and stormed out the door. He started the ignition, wondering what the hell he was going to do, he was about to drive off when he spotted Cesar washing his Lowrider. He rolled the window down.

'Hey Vialpando, you gotta piece?' Cesar gave him an unsure look, but disappeared into the house, and emerged holding a sawn off shotgun.

'Hey holmes, make sure you don't draw it on one of my own,' he laughed.

'No worries, I owe you,' he pushed down hard on the pedal and cut into the stream of cars. The sun had almost set, and Dylan was becoming increasingly nervous.

'Come on Dyl you can do it, you're the one with brains, there just whacked out assholes.' He said trying to convince himself that he had the advantage. He swerved round the corner and entered the seedy neighbourhood. He could hear the gunshots drumming in his ears, and skidded round another corner. He could see the disturbance, a gang of four green cladded men had pulled a gun on some poor guy who was now splattered across the pavement, well this poor guy was probably a drug dealer, this had lured some purple dressed yobs into the area. He recognised the purple as being the Front Yard Ballas, but the green he hadn't been told about, maybe they were some underdog gang trying to earn a street or two. As far as he could see only one of them had a small pistol and the other three were just wielding baseball bats, they were easily diminishing the oncoming Ballas that were making a half-assed effort to get rid of the new arrivals. The leader looked the real threat, green chonglers, some trashy Binco shirt. Dark skinned, black afro and shades. He was laughing as he shot down another, he had a well trained eye and an extremely menacing vibe. Dylan was about to get out of the car, when he realised he would probably get shot down as soon as he touched the ground, they wouldn't even give a second thought that he was a cop, a more subtle approach would be better. He reached to the back seat and grabbed around for his coat, then realised he had left at the apartment, it was way to hot to even bring one.

'Dam!' He ripped off his blue shirt and shoved his cuffs and pepper spray in his pockets. Would they suspect a guy in blue pants and a white shirt? He grabbed the shot gun and shoved it halfway down the back of his pants, hopefully to whip it out if things got a bit sticky. He got out the car and shut the door as quietly as he could.

'Yeah you the man CJ,' jeered one of the men.

'This is CJ fools bustin a cap in yo ass!' yelled the leader or 'CJ'

Dylan took the chance.

'Hey I gotta' message for ya,' yelled Dylan hoping for the best. Instantly a gun was pulled on him.

'Hey hey don't shoot the messenger,' he put his hands up, if they didn't buy this he was screwed. He cautiously moved towards them, and could see the leader slowly lowering his gun.

'What kinda message,'? said one of them, who was raising his crow bar.

'Your hood, it's in trouble, I had to run all the way,' he said faking a stitch, his hand was able to edge towards the butt of the shotgun.

'And what hood would that be?' said one of the wiser ones. Crap. He looked around for a clue, gang members usually showed there dedication by having a tattoo stating there gang plastered on his back or chest. And there it was, in black ink, on the leaders left bicep.

'Groove street yeah, some guy just came up to me and said 'run to East Los Santos and warn CJ, the hoods in trouble', he then pulled a nine on me, so I ran all the way from…' he paused. He recalled some men walking down with green bandanas in, what was the place? He was passing the 10 green bottles when he saw them.

'Ganton,' Dylan held his breath.

'Grove Street you ass,' The leader turned his back on Dylan.

'Come on homies lets get back,' this was his chance. He pulled the gun from his pants and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

'What the fuck!' He yelled as Dylan pushed the gun into the guys temple. He leapt back a few steps dragging his hostage with him. Several gang members raised there guard and attempted to smash Dylan's head, but thought better of it. He squirmed in Dylan's grip and swore continuously.

'You stupid motherfucker get the hell off me or I'll blast your foot off,' he cried

'Not before I blow you brains out you street trash,' replied Dylan.

'Do you know who I am!'

'Who are you then?'

'Carl Johnson, remember that, cos that's the last name your gonna' here in your sorry ass life,' Carl yelled, becoming more furious and dangerous by the second.

'Ok Mr Johnson this is how where going to do it, you give me the gun, and then I'm going to arrest you, if you try any smart moves I'll kill you, without a second thought, O.K?' said Dylan smoothly.

'Yeah right, in your dreams pretty boy,' Dylan pushed the gun harder into his head.

'O.K, O.K, O.K, here,' he pushed the pistol into Dylan's hands. Suddenly two police cars swerved round the corner, making Dylan relaxing his grip.

'NOW!' yelled Carl. He spun round and kneed Dylan in the groin, he accidentally pulled the trigger in a fit of panic making a bullet skim the side of his shoe, Dylan scrunched up and fell to the floor, and received another kick.

'Oh crap…' he groaned, he was done for. He heard gunshots and opened his eyes, Carl Johnson was speeding off on a BMX, leaving his gang to be ripped to shreds. One fell to the floor, another then another. Then he heard the smooth, slick voice of Officer Tenpenny.

'Mr Garnier what the hell are you doing down there?