Sands Through The Hourglass
Once Upon A Time In Mexico Fan Fiction
By Scarlett Burns
Rated: M (16+)
(for adult language, violence and disturbing situations)

Summary: Post-movie. Sands finds himself back in CIA hands, and his future is uncertain. A setup within the CIA puts Sands to the test, and he's forced to lay it all out on the line to gain proof about the conspiracy against him.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
~*~
Spook Speak | Translation Guide

Part 7

Sands sat in his hotel room pondering that exact thought. He believed that he had two options available to him. He could lead Jackson on and find out just who he worked for, or he could waste the rat and be done with it.

He greatly preferred the latter idea.

Yeah, he was going to have the smoke the bastard.

Then again, it could be fun messing with Jackson for a while, come to think of it.

Slipping his sunglasses back on, Sands smiled as a truly sinister plot came to mind. He seriously needed a little fun right now, a little distraction from his current problems, and if anyone had it coming, it was Jackson.

Hearing El begin to come to in the bathroom, Sands’ smile widened. Enough of dancing around the matter of business; to hell with the games that they’d been playing with each other. El was going to see things his way, figuratively speaking of course, or he wasn’t going to see anything at all.

There was a soft knock on the room door before it opened completely, and Cam’s voice jarred Sands from his thoughts.

"Alright Sands. I have no idea what I just ordered, but I ordered it."

"Kooky."

"By the way, I broke the lock on your door here," Cam said, before closing it and listening to El shuffling around in the bathroom. "I think he’s going to be grumpy."

Sands smirked and walked over to Cam, coming to stand by him in the entryway. "Might as well open the door. He’ll just perform his best howler monkey impression if we don’t. The idea of the hotel staff’s attention isn’t a hip prospect to me right now."

"Yeah, but what are…"

"Just open the door, Cam,’ Sands interrupted.

Doing as he was ordered, Cam opened the door to the sight of El Mariachi leaning against the bathtub, groaning unhappily and rubbing the back of his head.

"Ah, sleeping beauty has awakened. El, really... must you make a habit of forcing me to render you unconscious every time we speak? It makes it a bit hard to move forward with this operation when you’re constantly out cold." Sands’ eyebrows rose as El began to spit out some rather colorful curses in Spanish. "Such language, El! You’re corrupting my poor little virgin ears."

Despite his professional façade, Cam couldn’t contain the snort of laughter that escaped at Sands’ last comment.

Sands’ gun was in his hand as he moved into the bathroom and crouched in front of El, who was still swearing under his breath. "Now it’s time you and I got down to brass tacks, so shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to say. If you don’t, I’ll make Swiss cheese out of your Mariachi ass."

"Empty threats, Sands. You need me for something…"

"Correction, I want you for something. Your worth has decreased drastically since my partner’s arrival, so it’s in your best interests not to piss me off anymore than you already have or…" Sands trailed off before mouthing the word ‘bang’ and mimicking the action of shooting.

"What do you want?" El ground out.

Sands smiled nastily before finally giving El his answer. "I want you to break into the CIA’s Mexico Headquarters, and steal some rather… sensitive documents."

"What?" El asked, bewildered. He was sure that he hadn’t heard right.

"You heard me loud and clear. It’s a shame really, you may not even have to kill anybody, and we both know there’s no fun in that. All you have to do is scamper into headquarters, preferably undetected, develop a case of sticky fingers, and nab some critical documents for yours truly."

"Why me? Why not him?" El asked, pointing to Cam.

Unaware of El’s gesture, Sands cocked his head. Bending down, he leaned close to El, much to the Mariachi’s discomfort. Sands’ drawl was slow and quiet, with a deliberately menacing undertone. "You don’t seem to be catching my drift. Anyway you slice it… you owe me. I don’t give a rat’s ass whether you ever admit it or not. You are not here to ask me questions. You are here for one sole purpose, El. Do you know what that is?" Sands asked, not expecting an answer and not receiving one. "No? Well then, let me spell it out for you. You are here to please me, El. Nothing else on this earth matters. You are here to complete the assignment I’ve given you, and complete it with flying colors. If you don’t, if you disappoint me once again…" Sands paused a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was ice. "…I’ll blow you away."

Sands stood up, returning to stand by Cam in the doorway. He could practically feel El’s eye’s burning into his back. Facing El again, Sands continued. "You know, you’re lucky I didn’t just shoot you full of holes and bury you in your precious Paracho. You’re equally lucky that my trigger finger hasn’t twitched since then and caused a nasty accident. Next time, El, you won’t be so lucky. I can guarantee it."

Sands returned to the main part of the room, with Cam following closely behind. El slowly pulled himself off the linoleum floor, his head pounding from Sands’ blow.

"Like to go shopping, Cam?" Sands asked casually, when he heard Cam behind him, as if he’d already forgotten his spat with El.

As far as Sands was concerned, the next order of business was dealing with Jackson, and there was no time to lose.

"Does it matter?" Cam asked, knowing that he was going whether he liked it or not.

Sands smirked, grabbing the notepad off the desk and tossing it to Cam. A pen quickly followed the notepad, and Cam found himself smacked in the chest by both objects.

Groaning as they hit the floor, Cam picked them up as El walked into the room.

"You never could catch worth shit, Cam."

Cam rolled his eyes and sat on the end of the bed. "What am I shopping for?"

"Cigarettes," Sands said immediately.

Cam silently fought to withhold a retort about Sands’ weakness for nicotine. He didn’t feel like dying today. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, but I want to make sure you get a pack of cigarettes. Make that a couple packs. Bali Shag, if you can get them in this spit-wad of a country."

"Noted."

"Once you have the cigarettes… get corn syrup, two large bottles of water, a plastic salad bowl, corn starch, milk, white school glue, and food coloring; blue and red."

Cam raised an eyebrow as he finished writing down what Sands had asked for. "Am I allowed to ask what we’re going to make?"

Sands smiled maliciously. "A little surprise for Jackson. Certain… betrayals on his part have come to my attention. He’s a bad actor in this little play of ours." Walking over to his bag, Sands reached in and grabbed another 9mm clip and his cane, quickly tucking the latter away in his jeans’ pocket. "He didn’t play his part right, failed to hit his mark and follow the script. It’s time he got the hook. I’m just the person to make certain that he exits stage left, and ensure that he goes out with a bang before his final curtain call."

Cam shook his head, certain that Sands’ lingo had to be of his own invention. Dreading whatever twisted plot Sands undoubtedly had cooking in his perverted mind, he stood and made to exit, shooting a warning glare in El’s direction as he did so. "Alright, I’ll be back in a few," Cam said, opening the door.

"Don’t forget the cigarettes!" Sands called after him, hearing Cam grumble something unintelligible in response on his way out.

As soon as the door closed, Sands turned towards El. "You come with me. There’s a certain vehicle that needs inspecting." Making sure the cardkey was in his pocket, Sands opened the room’s door and gestured for El to go first.

They walked through the hotel and out the front doors in silence, before El finally asked, "What do you want me here for?"

"Well, I can’t recognize the car that we arrived in, now can I?"

El cleared his throat uncomfortably before making his way towards the car. "This is the one," El said, when they stopped in front of the car they’d arrived in.

Immediately Sands faced El and shooed him away. "Buzz off, little fly," Sands said, returning his attention to the car and running a hand along the top.

"But…"

"I said go. I’ll expect you to be in our room when I’m finished here."

"And just what do you have to do here?"

"Sniff out a rat. Now buzz off."

El left with a grunt, and Sands waited until his footsteps were out of earshot before settling to the task at hand. Walking to the back of the car, Sands knelt down and felt along the back bumper, around the muffler and anywhere underneath the car within arm’s reach. Not finding what he suspected was traveling with them, he made his way to the front of the car. Searching beneath the front bumper he quickly found what he’d been looking for.

With a quick twist and pull, the object popped free, and Sands stood upright again with it in his grasp. Turning the device in his hands and feeling it out, he came to the conclusion that it was indeed what he’d suspected.

A tracking device.

As he felt out the familiar shell and engraved numbers on the side, he made another disturbing discovery.

The serial number on a Company device had its own code, and there was no mistaking this one. Having used the same kind in his own operations, Sands was familiar with this type of tracker. He opened the back and removed the battery. Unfortunately, it had already given away his position, but he opted not to destroy it.

"I may just decide to use this little bug against you sons of bitches," Sands said under his breath, pocketing the small tracker. He turned around quickly when he heard footsteps approaching.

"We’ve got to stop meeting like this," a female voice said.

Sands smirked, guard on full alert as he answered, "Why Miss 221, don’t tell me that I’m now loitering in front of your car."

"As a matter of fact, you are. It’s to your left. I’ve been meaning to ask your name, seeing as we keep bumping into each other."

Sands sighed, not having the time nor the patience to deal with the woman at the moment. He pushed past her, disregarding her question, and planning on returning to his room in time to make some much needed preparations. Recalling the way he’d come, he retraced his steps back to the hotel entrance, and groaned inwardly when he heard her following. Intent on ignoring her, she didn’t gain his full attention until she called out his name in a hushed undertone so that only he could hear. "Sands?"

Sands’ steps halted abruptly, and he turned on his heel to face her as she quickly caught up to him.

"Why, I thought you didn’t know my name, Sugar," Sands said in a slow drawl, as warning bells sounded in his mind. He grabbed hold of her arm roughly and she yelped as he yanked her closer.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as a gun dug into her ribs.

Leaning in close to her ear, he asked in a whisper, "Who do you work for?"

Taking a deep breath, she tried to remain calm and keep her voice steady while she answered. "Tom. I work for Tom. I can explain…"

Sands cocked his head to the side before tucking his gun back out of sight. His grip on her upper arm remained painfully firm as they walked through the hotel lobby.

"Let’s make this a private performance, in my room," Sands said, walking her towards their destination.

When they arrived at his room, Sands opened the door. "Ladies first," he said, shoving her through the doorway, before he followed her in, and closed the door behind them.

He listened for El, but could hear no signs of his presence as he stepped further into the room, and seized his 9mm from its holster. "I don’t trust you, Sugar, nothing personal."

While cocking the gun and aiming it at her, he reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. "I think I’ll give good ol’ Tom a jingle. You’d better hope that you check out darlin’, because if you don’t you’ll be pushin’ up daises from a pine box."

Eyes fixed on the man in front of her, she tried to compose herself as she replied steadily, "I’ll check out." While he dialed, she took a moment to study him. Wearing a tacky novelty T-shirt and jeans, with dark shades covering his eyes, he hardly looked like an Officer for the CIA. Yet, she’d never dealt with a CIA employee face-to-face before, so she conceded that she probably wasn’t the best judge of appearances. Still, if she’d been forced to guess his occupation, she would have thought him a shady Hollywood talent scout. It led her to believe that he could be acting. This Sands was either blind, or playing the part very well. Either way, he was not a man to be crossed, that much was clear.

Sands dialed and let the phone ring several times. Tom picked up on the fifth ring and Sands wasted no time in getting down to business.

"Tom. I’ve got a woman here who claims to be my real driver. What’s the name of the driver you sent over?" Sands paused a moment, before moving the cell away from his ear. "What’s your name, Sugar-buns?"

"Ava Hunter."

"Kudos to you, Sugar. You’ve passed the first test. Got a cell phone on you?"

"Yeah."

"Groovy. Tom?" Sands asked, speaking back into the phone. "Give the lady you sent over a call." Sands snapped the cell phone shut. "If that phone of yours rings, I’ll listen to what you have to say. If not…" Sands trailed off, waving his gun. "I wouldn’t want to be you."

Half a minute passed without a sound and Sands clicked his tongue repeatedly. "I don’t hear it ringing."

Taking her phone out of her jacket, she checked to make sure it was on. "It will." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a tune played from her phone. Heaving a mental sigh of relief, she answered with a curt, "Yeah?"

"Ava?" Tom asked.

"Yeah, it’s me."

"What the hell is going on? Is Sands there?"

"Yup. He’s practicing his aim on me right now but… hey!" She looked up at Sands as he roughly pulled the cell phone away from her.

"It’s her?" he asked Tom.

"It’s her. What…"

Hanging up, Sands tossed the phone back to her. "Spill the beans, Sugar. I’ll give you five minutes to explain how you were lucky enough to bump into me here, and how you fucked up your assignment."

"Well, it…" she began, only to be quickly interrupted.

"You tell me it’s a coincidence and your five minutes are history... and incidentally, so are you."

Ava cleared her throat in discomfort. In her line of work she’d met her fair share of intimidating men, but Sands had to be on top of that list. It was his unwavering calmness that unnerved her, and the air of detachment that laced his tone as he threatened her life seemingly as easily as he breathed. It reminded her of an old saying, that one can never judge a book by it’s cover, and the thought that he knew exactly what he was doing by dressing the way he did quickly entered her mind.

"I wouldn’t dream of it," Ava said, sitting down slowly on the edge of the nearest bed. "I was waiting for you at the airport, as per my instructions. Tom e-mailed me a picture of you, so I knew what you looked like. After waiting a few minutes, I saw you come out, but before I could approach you someone else beat me to it."

"Jackson," Sands said.

"If that’s the man who’s been pretending to be your driver, then yes. I saw him take your bag, and you get into his car…"

"Why didn’t you say something to me? Approach me? You had the time," Sands cut in, sitting down on the desk chair across from her. He kept the gun trained on her, but flicked the safety back on and she took it as a sign that he was listening.

She leaned towards him, hoping to come off sincere. "Officer Sands, you have to understand…" She paused, her tone deadly serious when she continued. "I can hold my own if it comes down to it, but I’m no trained officer or agent. I’m a simple stringer who does the occasional odd job for Tom here and there for some extra cash. I didn’t know if this Jackson guy had other people with him or not, whether he was armed or not… I can’t go up against a whole group of trained gunmen. I’m not Wonder Woman."

Sands snickered, and she hoped that he believed what she was telling him.

"So I opted to follow you and Jackson, feel things out, and wait until I could catch you when no one else could be listening."

"If that is the case, a matter which still remains to be proved, you’re smarter than the average stringer. How about our meeting in the hall? I don’t recall hearing a peep from you about all this, yet you had the chance to tell me."

"I had just seen Jackson and another man enter the room next to mine. Being so close to the room, I didn’t want to risk either of them overhearing. That and…" She bit her lip, knowing that what she was about to bring up was most likely a sore spot, if he wasn’t faking his disability. "If you’ll forgive me, Officer, I was thrown off guard. Tom didn’t tell me that…" She trailed off a moment, studying his reaction or lack thereof, before asking, "Does he know?"

"That I’m blind?" Sands asked, his voice devoid of emotion as he thought about the recent turn of events, and the woman in front of him. "No. I prefer that he’s… kept in the dark, so to speak."

Ava looked at him curiously. She couldn’t read anything from his reaction. Not from his voice, nor his expression. Again she was reminded that this man was no amateur. "Why?"

"Because, Sugar… Jackson knew all these nifty little details that could only have been obtained in one of three ways." Sands held up a finger, counting the options as he recited them. "Behind door number one we have Tom ratting me out. I open up door number two, and discover wiretaps on Tom’s phone line. What’s behind door number three you may ask? Well, behind that door is a potentially fatal option for you… because behind it, you are working with Jackson."

"I’m not working for that slime!" Ava protested immediately.

Sands stood and tilted his head as he drawled, "But how do I know for sure?"

Searching for an answer, she finally had to admit, "I don’t know."

Sands walked over and sat down beside her, draping an arm over her shoulders, gun still in hand. "If you’re indeed telling the truth, Sugar, then I think it’d be wise if you took my advice to heart." He stopped speaking briefly, running the barrel of the gun along her jaw line gently. When he felt her shiver, he knew she understood the danger in the motion.

"And what advice is that?" she asked, her voice only betraying her true fear ever so slightly.

When Sands spoke again, his voice was no longer its typical bored drawl, but cold and harsh. "Get the fuck out of this room, get the fuck out of this town, and get the fuck out of Mexico."

Sands’ arm slipped off Ava’s shoulder. Standing up he made his way to the door. "Trust me, Sugar. You don’t want to be here when things get messy… and they will get messy."

Ava sat on the edge of the bed, nonplussed, as Sands opened the door and ushered her out. She didn’t really know what to do, but she didn’t want to abandon her job. She’d been paid to do something, and it wasn’t her style to just up and leave. After all, she could still be useful.

Walking over to the doorway, she didn’t do as he said, but gently closed the door to give them privacy once again. She was surprised, though, by his quick reaction, which was to press the muzzle of his gun against her forehead.

"In case it wasn’t clear as crystal, that wasn’t a request," he said, his voice neutral.

Backing into the wall behind her in an attempt to put as much distance between her and the gun as possible, Ava came to the conclusion that the best way to gain this man’s respect was to not be intimidated by him. ‘Well, here goes nothing.’

"I’ve met men like you before. Do anything for the goal. Anything for the job. Ice hard professional. Excellent at what you do I’m sure… but you’re nobody without your title, Officer Sands. Nobody."

Sands didn’t react instantly, and that was how she knew she’d managed to surprise him. However, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to recollect himself.

"You know what they say. Nobody’s perfect," Sands drawled, closing the gap between them. Pressing the gun underneath her jaw, he leant in close, speaking softly in her ear. "…therefore, I am perfect." Inhaling deeply, he tilted his head. "That’s lovely perfume, but must you marinate yourself in it?" Turning her so that she was facing him, he continued. "Your rudimentary mind games just won’t work with me, Sugar. You’re looking at a pro."

"You’re just a ray of sunshine, Officer," Ava said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "It’s not my fault that Jackson picked you up."

"I didn’t say it was your fault. I said I blame you for it." Sands lowered his gun, and returned it to his holster.

"Aren’t you going to shoot me?" she asked, moving away from the wall, fully aware of the tightrope she was walking.

"I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. The night’s still young. You in a rush?"

She resisted the urge to heave a large sigh of relief, knowing that she’d just taken a big gamble. "And what about the job I was hired to do?"

Sands cocked an eyebrow, keeping a hand on the butt of his gun. "Consider yourself terminated from my employ."

Opening her mouth to answer, she was interrupted by the door opening, causing them both to step back. Sands’ focus immediately shifted from her to the doorframe.

"What’s going on here?" Cam asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his tone suggestive.

Sands gave him an innocent look before replying. "Only a possible homicide."

"So sorry to interrupt." Cam stepped into the room, closing the door. "I got what you wanted, Sands," he said, setting the bags down on the desk.

"I told you to go, Ava," Sands drawled, holding the door open for her. His tone left little room for argument.

Refusing to leave without a fight, she continued. "Officer Sands, I take my work very seriously. When someone hires me to do a job, I do it."

"That’s very honorable of you, but I truly don’t give a flying fuck," Sands smirked. "Ego te dimitto, Sugar."

"What is that? Latin?" she asked, and his head rolled back, as if he was pleading to a higher power.

"Get out of here before I shoot you."

Cam gave Ava an evaluating look, before turning back to Sands and asking, "Who’s she?"

Heaving an irritated sigh, Sands closed the door before answering. He wasn’t going to run the risk of anyone eavesdropping. "My real driver."

"I’m Ava Hunter. Officer Sands’ contact, Tom, sent me," Ava interjected, hoping that the other man would be more hospitable.

"Your real driver?" Cam repeated to Sands, confusion written on his face. "Then… why are you giving her the boot?"

Sands could barely contain his incredulous expression at the question. "She’s hardly reliable."

Cam’s gaze returned to Ava, and their eyes met. Cam looked her over before asking, "If Jackson isn’t your real driver, then who is he working for?"

Sands arched an eyebrow. "Not in front of the lady, Eric."

Cam eyed Ava once more, then shrugged his shoulders. "Your call, Jeff. It doesn’t matter to me, but you never know when we might need an extra hand."

‘Or extra eyes…’ Shaking his head slightly, Sands suddenly remembered what he’d sent Cam for. "You get my cigarettes?"

Cam rolled his eyes as he searched a bag, retrieving one of the packs he’d bought. "Not your brand, but I figured it would do," he said, removing the plastic wrapping and handing the pack over.

Sands quickly lit up and inhaled deeply, feeling himself calm down almost immediately as his tense muscles began to relax. As smoke filtered out through his nose, the thought that Ava might have a use after all entered his mind. It occurred to him, that like El, Ava could act as insurance if the Company tried to prosecute him before, or even after, he proved his case.

"Alright, Sugar… tell you what. You scurry back to your room and chill. I’ll swing by later to discuss things in further detail. But let me give you fair warning." Sands moved closer to Ava before continuing, his voice smooth as silk. "You decide to take this job, and there is no going back. My first advice to you still goes, and if you have any brains in that pretty little head of yours, you’ll get the fuck out of here and you won’t be in room 221 when I decide to mosey on over there." A smirk twisted Sands lips. "Now… get the fuck out of here. I won’t say it again."

"I’ll be in my room, Officer Sands," she said earnestly. Staring intently at the officer in front of her, she headed slowly out the door.

"Die dulci fruere," Sands said with an unenthusiastic wave of his hand, kicking the door closed with his foot as she left.As soon as the door shut, he walked over to the desk and began rummaging through the bags that Cam had brought in, forgetting about the woman in a matter of seconds.

"So, what are we making?" Cam asked, looking over Sands’ shoulder as he began guesstimating the amount of milk needed, pouring it into the plastic bowl Cam had bought.

Smiling mischievously, Sands answered, "Witches’ brew, Cam. A little eye of newt, couple of crow’s feet, dash of arsenic, and voila! Jackson’s cold dead body will appear before our very eyes… or your very eyes anyway. Cornstarch?"

Cam stood there, nonplussed. "Corn starch? Oh!" He fished around in a couple of bags before coming up with the cornstarch and handing it to Sands. "You know that what you just said tells me precisely nothing, right?"

"You bet."

As Sands continued to mix the ingredients together, just what he was making suddenly dawned on Cam. He smiled and shot Sands a sly look.

Sands dipped a finger into the mixture, testing its consistency. Searching in the bags, Sands found the glue and squeezed it into the mix.

"Glue?" Cam asked.

Sands nodded in confirmation. "Makes it stick," he explained, cigarette dangling from his lips as he spoke.

"You’re getting ash in the bowl," Cam informed him.

"It’ll give the mix more texture," Sands said, shrugging it off.

"So who is Jackson working for?"

"The Company," Sands answered, taking the tracking device he’d found earlier out of his pocket and tossing it to Cam.

Cam caught it, scrutinizing the device closely.

"I do believe that’s still your specialty, is it not?" Sands drawled, stirring the ingredients together.

"You know it is," Cam said absentmindedly, inspecting the tracker. While Sands was a bang-and-burn officer at heart and by training, Cam had taken a different direction, specializing in electronic surveillance and photography. "It’s definitely a Company device. Not an old one either. This is the most common tracker in use, released late last year. Where’d you find it?"

"Hitching a ride on Jackson’s car," Sands replied, stubbing his dead cigarette out on the desk. "Fallaces sunt rerum species."

Deciding to ignore the Latin, Cam continued. "I think I’m getting the picture now. But the Company already sent me to find you. Why would they send Jackson too? Why go to the trouble of adding a tracker and keeping up with all these false pretenses when he could have just brought you in?"

Sands turned towards Cam, pointing a finger coated in thick white goop at him. "That’s the theme of tonight’s show."

Sands smirked and brought the finger to his lips. "But don’t tell. It’s a surprise. Besides…" Sands stuck the finger in his mouth, and Cam made a face, knowing that the stuff had to taste nasty, considering the ingredients in it. "… it’d be a cold day in hell before that fuckwad could have taken me back to the States."

Not swallowing, Sands tested the thickness of the mixture. After a couple of seconds he rolled his tongue over his front teeth, but showed no other outward signs of its bitter taste. Instead, he walked straight into the bathroom.

"Taste good?" Cam asked in amusement, as he heard Sands spit into the sink and run the water for a few seconds.

Sands didn’t answer until he was back in the room, standing beside Cam. "Tastes like shit," he said matter-of-factly. Walking back over to the desk, Sands smirked. "Which means it’s perfect. Now for the final touch, which you’ll have to add… the food coloring."

Cam did so, trying to match a color he’d seen before. It wasn’t a hard color to remember. In fact, he was quite sure that it would be etched into his mind until the day he died.

Sands grabbed a water bottle and returned to the bathroom. Twisting off the cap, he took a swig, then poured the rest of the water into the sink, bringing the empty bottle back into the room.

"Got it?" Sands asked.

"Yeah. Where’d you learn to make this anyway? The Farm?"

Frowning slightly, Sands didn’t answer. His hand searched the desk, until it made contact with the notepad. He tore off a piece of paper, took the bowl from Cam, and went back into the bathroom.

‘Oh hell,’ Cam thought, knowing he’d just stuck his foot in his mouth. Sands’ reaction had told Cam that he already knew exactly who’d taught Sands. A painfully obvious answer that he should have thought of before opening his mouth.

Sands sighed as he set the bowl down by the sink, wishing that Cam hadn’t asked that question. It brought back memories that he didn’t want to remember, and thoughts that he’d rather not have.

Rolling up the piece of paper, he stuck one end in the plastic water bottle, and let the other end naturally expand out, creating a makeshift funnel. Grabbing the bowl, he began slowly pouring the thick mixture, transferring it from the bowl to the bottle.

When the bottle was full Sands twisted on the cap and cleaned up.

Walking back into the entryway, Sands dug into his bag and brought out an unusual looking black gun. It wasn’t very large, and was almost all barrel, with a firing lever instead of a trigger.

"Jesus, Sands! Is that what I think it is?" Cam asked when he caught sight of the gun.

"Since my telepathic powers seem to come and go as they please, I’ll just say yes."

"How the hell do you still have one of those? Wasn’t the Company forced to destroy that model five years ago when they started the big crackdown?"

Sands inclined his head, and Cam could imagine the devilish twinkle that would have been in his eyes. "Yes, and the answer is simple. I was sent out on an assignment with this gun seven years ago. When I returned to the States, I told the Company that I had to destroy the gun because it was in jeopardy of being discovered."

"But you just kept it instead… just how much Company stuff have you jacked over the years?"

Sands smiled wickedly, a clear capsule of light yellow liquid between his fingertips. He loaded it into the gun, and tucked the gun into his hip holster. The weapon was a dangerous one, and if it went off before he intended, he’d be dead… end of story.

"The Company doesn’t give those to just any officer…" Cam continued

Next Sands retrieved a brown sports coat, folded up in the bottom of his bag. Slipping it on to conceal the gun at his hip, he faced Cam and cocked an eyebrow, finishing the sentence. "Only to their trained assassins."

Cam said nothing, not knowing what to say. Sands tucked the water bottle into an inside pocket of his jacket. "Of course officially we don’t exist anymore, so mum’s the word," Sands continued easily.

Cam sighed heavily before replying, "Well, I always did wonder what that last specialty of yours was."

Sands slipped off his sunglasses, and searched around in the bag for his extra pair. Making the switch, Sands slipped on the cheaper sunglasses. There was no sense in ruining a good pair of sunglasses, after all. "Where did El run off to, anyway?"

"Beats me. Maybe he’s eating dinner."

"That better be all he’s doing," Sands said offhandedly. Retrieving a pair of black leather gloves and a small box from the bag, he slipped on the gloves and opened the box. Taking out a small white pill, he popped it in his mouth and swallowed it dry, then put the little box in his pocket.

"What was that?"

"Sodium thiosulfate," Sands answered, all suited up and ready to go. "Here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to ask Jackson to go down to the car and get my suitcase. I want you to stall him for… oh, let’s just say twenty minutes."

"I don’t know what he looks like."

"Now, Cam, it would be rude of me not to formally introduce the two of you."

"Any specific way you want me to stall him?"

Sands raised his eyebrows. "You’re asking me? I do believe you’re the people person, out of the two of us. I’m sure you’ll think of a way." Walking to the door, Sands turned and waited for Cam to join him. "Just don’t arouse his suspicion."

Cam made his way over to Sands, but when Sands began to turn the knob, Cam stopped him. "You just make sure you watch your back, Jeff."

"It’s just a little game of Cowboys and Indians, Cam. Don’t wig out," Sands said, calm as ever as he lit another cigarette.

"Yeah, but who knows how many Indians may be outside that door."

Sands exhaled a perfect ring of smoke, unfazed by Cam’s words of caution. "I’ll be sure to shoot first, shoot later, shoot again, then, when everyone’s dead, I’ll try and ask a question or two."

Cam smirked, reminded of the old days when they were partners in the field. "I thought you’d learned that dead men can’t tell you anything by now?"

Sands grinned and opened the door. "That’s where you’re wrong."

"How loyal are you to Sands?" Cam had whispered conspiratorially to Jackson after pulling him aside.

Cam got his answer without much effort. The answer was, Jackson wasn’t loyal at all.

During their chat, Jackson hadn’t mentioned who he was working for or what he was up to. Cam kept to his word and didn’t press for any information, to avoid any suspicion on Jackson’ part.

When they returned to the second floor, they parted ways. Cam returned to Sands’ room, deciding to wait for him.

After several seconds and no sounds of movement within the room, Jackson tried again, and again there was no answer. Figuring that Sands had returned to his room after the long wait, Jackson took the keycard out of his pocket and opened the door.

Setting one foot inside, he dropped off his bag before walking down the hall with Sands’ suitcase. Knocking on the officer’s door, it was immediately answered by Cam.

Jackson quickly shoved the suitcase into Cam’s hands. "Tell Sands that I don’t want to be bugged by him for the rest of the night."

"Well, I’ll tell him when he gets back."

"He’s not here?"

"No," Cam answered, setting the suitcase down in the entryway by Sands’ other bag.

Curious, Jackson wondered where Sands could be. Coming to the conclusion that he really didn’t care, he shrugged. "I’ll see you two in the morning."

Returning back to his room, Jackson made a quick stop in the bathroom before grabbing his suitcase from the entryway and carrying it into the room. Setting it down on top of the small table by the window, he popped it open and grabbed a manila folder out of the top flap.

Turning around, he quickly froze in horror at the sight that greeted him. The folder in his hands dropped to the floor forgotten, and his jaw fell slack.

He took a small, shaky step towards the gruesome sight, his breath catching in his throat. He’d never been able to stomach the sight of blood… and there was a lot of blood.

"Fuck," Jackson swore under his breath. After a couple more steps towards the body, he decided that getting any closer wasn’t necessary.

Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, Jackson dialed a number with shaky hands. The line on the other end was picked up after the first ring.

Jackson took a deep breath. "Yeah. I have some news to report about Officer Sands. No… no, that won’t be necessary after all. He’s dead."

Looking back at Sands’ body, Jackson shivered involuntarily. Blood coated his T-shirt, and had soaked through part of his jacket as well. He lay at an odd angle on the bed… but worst of all was the horrendous sight of Sands’ face.

Gone were the sunglasses that had always been there since he’d met the officer, but there was something else vital missing as well; his eyes. Instead, all that was there were empty sockets, recent wounds oozing dark crimson blood down his face.

Voice shaking, Jackson spoke into the phone again. "Yes, I’m sure. Sands won’t be a problem anymore."

Horrified, Jackson stared at Sands’ body in disgust, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the gory sight as he stood there, rooted in place.

Snapping his cell phone shut, he slipped it into his pocket as he moved closer to the body. Sands was still… and bloody. Very, very bloody.

"What the hell happened?" Jackson breathed, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. He’d only taken around half an hour to get the bags, and talk with Cameron. Whoever did this, did it very quickly.

As he found himself standing beside Sands’ unmoving form on the bed, he realized just how much of a problem this could prove to be for him.

What if someone found Sands in this room, a room registered in his name? There would be an investigation of course. Where that would lead… well, he didn’t even want to think about that.

‘Is someone trying to frame me?’ he thought, quickly becoming worried. Noticing the broken sunglasses lying at his feet, he picked them up curiously as a thought occurred to him. ‘Sands never took off his sunglasses when I was around…’

Leaning down close to the body to see the damage that had been done, Jackson noticed that Sands’ dead body was, in fact, breathing, just as the barrel of a gun, seemingly produced out of thin air, was shoved into his face.

When Sands moved out of his death pose, his lips curved into an evil smile.

"Surprise, surprise, rat fuck."

Jackson took a hasty step back, wanting to put some distance between himself and Sands as quickly as possible. Sands looked like the angel of death, come to take him to hell. Come to think of it, that was very likely what Sands was planning on doing. "Jesus!" Jackson shrieked, unable to believe his eyes.

"No. Try again. Think more… south."

"What the hell happened to you?"

"I was betrayed by one of my own, Jackson… and it seems history wants to repeat itself. If that is the case, then I guess I’ll just have to smoke your ass too."

"What- what is this?" Jackson stuttered, not fully comprehending what was going on. For all he knew, he could just be imagining this whole thing. Actually, he prayed that a temporary bout of insanity was the case, because if it wasn’t… he was in some deep shit.

"Your performance was less than stellar, Jackson. It might have amused some of your audience, but I’m your toughest critic... and the only person that really matters, as it turns out. I hope you weren’t planning on a thriving acting career." Sands cocked an eyebrow. "Did you really think you’d fooled me so easily? They must have at least briefed you on my history with the Company. I find your naivete hard to believe, even for someone with your lack of cerebral matter."

"Why? You were stupid enough to get caught on your last assignment," Jackson shot back, his anger fueled by Sands’ insults.

"So were you," Sands countered calmly, knowing very well what Jackson was trying to do. Sands took a threatening step towards Jackson. "I wonder… do you have what it takes to stop me from blowing you away? Because I don’t think you do."

"Better to die, than live like you."

Sands fought to keep his face neutral. "Never miss a good chance to shut the hell up, Jackson."

"You plan to kill me?"

"Well, naturally. However, how you die will depend on your answers."

Jackson wrinkled his brow in confusion. "You won’t kill me if I cooperate?"

Sands smirked. "That’s a little clichéd, don’t you think? Let’s just go with the flow. See what happens." Swiftly closing the gap between them, Sands brought the heel of his boot down on Jackson’s injured foot.

Doubling over in pain, Jackson bit back a cry of agony. He tried to shove Sands away, with little success.

Sands grabbed a chunk of Jackson’s hair and jerked his head up roughly. "Do you have any idea what this is?" Sands asked, bringing the unusual gun into Jackson’s view.

"A fucking gun," Jackson ground out, his mind racing as he tried to figure a way out of the dangerous situation he was in.

Sands let out a huff of disappointment. "This is much more than a ‘fucking gun’." Sands’ voice changed to a parental tone, as if he was talking to a child. "You see… if I pull the trigger of this gun it’s hasta la vista, Tonto. This is a cyanide gas gun, and it’s only given to the CIA’s trained assassins." Sands paused a moment and tilted his head in query. "Did you know that about me? Did you know that was one of my specialties? Just how familiar are you with my 201?"

"I never read it, they just told me…"

"What you needed to know?" Sands interrupted, his smirk quickly turning into laughter. "Classic. What did they tell you? That I went rogue? That I betrayed my country? That I was completely whacko? All of the above? Is Officer Sands the talk of the town?"

"They said you turned traitor, sold information to Barillo, and hoped to gain a profit from the Day of the Dead operation."

Sands sighed in mock dismay. "No imagination. No wonder I’m the best."

"Used to be."

Sands ground his heel further into Jackson’s foot. "I’d make you pay for that, but I want everyone to think you died of… natural causes. Wouldn’t do for them to find signs of a struggle on your corpse."

Sands unexpectedly felt the impact of Jackson’s fist connect with his jaw, and he took a step back as he reeled from the punch, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Whoa there Tonto, didn’t think you had it in you," Sands commented, amusement lacing his tone. "This might just be fun at that."

Sands heard Jackson take off for the door, and didn’t waste any time in going after him. Jackson, slowed down by his injured foot, didn’t make it far before his feet were kicked out from underneath him. He went down on his stomach hard, the force knocking the wind out of him.

"Ouch. That sounded like it hurt," Sands commented emotionlessly at the sound of the heavy thud. "Truth is, Jackson, to the Company, there’s no difference between you and me. We all pay a price eventually. I paid with my eyes, and you’ll pay with your life. In the end, it’ll all balance out," Sands said, his free hand gliding along an invisible line. Kneeling down, Sands asked, "You’re working for Martin, am I right?"

"Why should I tell you? You’re going to kill me anyway."

"You should have thought about that before you took this assignment. But…" Sands held up a finger. "I do have an incentive for you. If you cooperate, I promise that your death will be a snap. Otherwise… I won’t worry about what they think when they find your body, because they won’t find it. You’ll be fish food at the bottom of the first lake I come across."

Jackson’s breathing hitched as he pulled himself up off the floor, realizing the situation he was in. He saw little way out of it. If Sands was as crazy as the Company said he was… "If you kill me, they’ll put you away for life."

Snickering, Sands shook his head. "They can’t put me away for something they don’t know anything about."

Desperate, Jackson gripped Sands’ collar and pulled him close. "You’ll never get away with it," Jackson ground out, as tried to snatch the gun from Sands’ grip.

As they struggled for the weapon, Sands began to laugh. "What are you going to do, Jackson? Pull the trigger?"

"If you’re going to kill me, why not?"

Sands shrugged. "You’re dead if you do, dead if you don’t, Jackson."

"At least I’ll take you with me!" Jackson spat, trying to bluff his way out, and hoping that Sands wouldn’t call him on it. Unfortunately for him, Sands didn’t fold.

"You think so?" Sands asked. A feral grin played across his lips as he asked excitedly, "Why don’t we find out?"

Sands positioned the gun between them, facing up. With their faces only inches apart, they would both be killed if the gun went off. Sands pried Jackson’s fingers off his jacket with his free hand. Jackson’s hand now in his own, he forced Jackson to grip the gun, index finger on the trigger. Sands’ own gloved hand held Jackson’s firmly in place so that he was unable to move his hand away.

"Pull the trigger, Jackson," Sands coaxed him, coolly. "I’m giving you the chance to die with dignity, taking your assassin with you."

"You’re crazy Sands," Jackson said, a thought suddenly dawning on him. "You… you want me to kill you, don’t you?"

Sands tsk-tsked. "The real question is, are you man enough to pull the trigger?" he asked, not falling for Jackson’s bait. "I don’t think you are, Jackson. I think you’re a coward through and through, and I’m willing to bet my life on it. Are you?"

"I’m no coward," Jackson said, without much conviction.

"And I’m giving you the chance to prove me wrong," Sands replied, seemingly unfazed by the life and death situation. "You were right, you know. It’s not about how or when you die, it’s about who you take with you when you go. So do it, Jackson. Prove it. Prove the great CIA Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands wrong… and pull the trigger," Sands continued to cajole, waiting for a reaction and receiving none.

Sands’ trigger finger found itself on top of Jackson’s, and he applied a little pressure, egging Jackson on. Jackson’s sharp intake of breath made Sands smile. He was enjoying this game, but all good things had to come to an end sooner or later. "You can’t do it, can you?" Leaning in a little, he said quietly, "Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes."

Jackson tried to pull away, but Sands kept him in place. "I can understand why you want to die, but I don’t," Jackson said finally.

"And why, pray tell, would I want to die?" Sands asked, sarcasm lacing his tone. Of course, he knew what Jackson was thinking, but wasn’t willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d struck a cord. His defenses were up, and thinking about the insults Jackson was throwing his way was not something he was going to allow himself to do. "I’m a man who always gets what I want in the end, Jackson. If I wanted to be dead, I’d be dead." Sands appeared to study him for a moment. "You’re not afraid to die, are you Jackson?"

"Just leave me the fuck alone… I don’t want this worthless assignment to be the end of my life! Do you hear me?"

"Then tell me who you’re working for. I don’t even need you to tell me, really. It’s all just added confirmation. Gaining extra intelligence is always worth the time. You work for Martin, yes?"

Jackson took a couple of deep breaths before answering in a whisper, "Yes."

Sands took a deep breath of his own in a futile attempt to calm his anger. Of course he’d known in his mind that it was Martin, but now… now he had proof from someone else against his ex-boss.

‘How could the Company be so blind to such an obviously traitorous officer? How could I have been?’

Sands plastered on a fake smile. "You ever seen Broadway, Jackson?"

Jackson gave Sands a disbelieving look. "What the hell kind of question is that at a time like this?"

"Well, if you haven’t seen Broadway at night… you haven’t lived," Sands said seriously, an odd expression on his face. "It’s just that it would be a shame for you to die without seeing it." Shrugging, Sands didn’t linger on the subject. "You know, I knew all along that I was going to have to pull this trigger."

Smile still on his lips, Sands took a large breath, held it, and pulled the trigger.

Jackson gasped in shock, and in doing so inhaled a good portion of the toxic fumes. His gasp quickly turned into a wheeze.

Sands was caught by surprise, however, when Jackson grabbed hold of him as he fell to the ground, dragging Sands down with him. As Jackson fought in vain to get air into his lungs, he refused to let Sands go. Unable to hold his breath any longer, Sands sucked in a breath of the poisonous air.

"Never fuck over a rat, Jackson, the rat always wins in the end," Sands told him, coughing in between words, as he pried Jackson’s weakened hands off him. "Did you really think I’d come here without taking an antidote first? You’ll be dying alone tonight."

Jackson began to convulse, the cyanide taking its toll. Sands got up, feeling short of breath himself, as he took shaky steps away from Jackson and the contaminated air.

‘Shit, I was too close,’ Sands thought, as the gun slipped out of his suddenly weak grasp. He could hear Jackson taking his last strangled breaths on the floor before stopping all together. Sands swayed on the spot, his own breathing labored. One hand reached into his pocket, as the other searched for something to support his weight. ‘Too close, too close.’

Finding the bed, he clumsily edged along it, towards where he assumed a window would be. Hands seeking out the furniture in front of him, he walked around a table and chair before reaching the far wall. Locating the window, he quickly pulled it open. A light breeze touched his skin as he opened the small box he’d put in his pocket earlier. Removing the ampoule of amyl nitrate, he broke it in half and inhaled as deeply as his struggling lungs would allow.

Then, he waited.

The sodium thiosulfate he’d taken a half hour before was an antidote that helped counteract the effects of the cyanide gas, and the reason he wasn’t lying dead on the floor beside Jackson. However, having inhaled a fairly large amount of the poisonous vapors, the antitoxin ampoule he’d just sniffed would, he hoped, take care of his breathing, which was currently short and rapid.

Either his breathing would return to normal or he’d die of respiratory failure and find himself following Jackson to hell sooner than previously expected. It was hard to tell which way things would swing at the moment.

With his heartbeat seemingly as rapid as his breathing, Sands allowed himself to slide down to a seated position on the floor by the window. Knowing that the poison would rise in the air, the lower to the ground and closer to fresh air he was, the better.

‘Well, that could have gone more smoothly," Sands thought wryly, as he sluggishly wiped away a few beads of sweat from his forehead. His gloved hands were clammy, and his whole body was weak. A few feeble coughs escaped his throat as his breathing began to gradually return to normal.

Starting to catch his breath, Sands removed his sports coat and tossed it as far away from himself as possible. The sports coat was quickly followed by his shirt, which he cut off with his pocketknife to avoid pulling it over his face and inhaling any cyanide that might still be clinging to the cloth.

After a couple of minutes, his strength slowly began to return and Sands reached up and pushed the window open the rest of the way. Waiting for the room to air out and the cyanide to evaporate and disperse, Sands performed the next action on his emergency procedure checklist; he lit up and took a drag.

A minute later, the door opened and Sands immediately froze, not knowing who it was.

"Sands?" Cam’s voice asked, and Sands shot to his feet quickly. Evidently, it was a little too quickly, as he felt a sudden wave of nausea sweep over him. Leaning heavily against the table, Sands motioned for Cam to stop. "Stop!" he ordered, and he heard Cam’s footsteps halt immediately.

"Close the door and lean against it. Don’t come into the room any farther," Sands said, fighting the lingering dizziness he felt as he waved a hand around in the air, cigarette still held firmly between his fingers. "The air in here is a real bitch." Sands let out a small cough, accentuating his point. "Not too fresh. Dig?"

Kneeling down, he retrieved the ampoule he’d used and tossed it towards Cam. Cam caught it, unaware of what it was. "I sniff this?" he asked after a moment.

"Righty-o," Sands confirmed, taking another puff and sitting on the edge of the table, waiting for his dizziness to go away.

Cam took a large whiff of the ampoule, coughing as he asked, "Am I good?"

"Stay away from Jackson for a few minutes and you should be keen. The cyanide evaporates quickly."

Cam nodded, walking into the room and keeping as far away from Jackson’s body as possible. "You alright? You look a little pale."

"I always thought pale was a good look for me," Sands drawled, still feeling a little nauseated. "I just finished dancing with the devil."

"Really? And what did you find out?"

"That I’m a much better dancer."

Sands heard Cam sit down in the chair next to where he was sitting. "About Jackson, Sands."

"He admitted he was working for Martin," Sands said as he flicked his cigarette ash out the window. He had no intention of leaving any evidence that he was in this room. "You wearing gloves, Cam?" Sands asked quickly.

"Yeah."

"Spiffy," Sands said, tossing his cigarette out the window and grinning. "I knew you had to remember something from the Farm. You ready for a little scavenger hunt?"

Cam chuckled as he stood. "You know it’s what I live for."

"That I do." Thinking for a moment, Sands walked over and began searching Jackson’s body. He heard Cam open a desk drawer and shuffle through some papers. Finding Jackson’s cell, Sands pocketed it for further inspection later. "Is there anything on the floor?" Sands asked. "I thought I heard him drop something."

Cam glanced down at the carpet and spotted the envelope. "It’s a manila envelope," Cam confirmed as he picked it up and opened it.

Sands stepped back from Jackson, and turned his attention to the bed, sticking a probing hand underneath the mattress.

As Cam removed some documents from the envelope, he looked up at Sands and commented, "You’re not going to find anything under the mattress. That’s far too obvious."

Sands smirked and stood, moving to inspect the other side of the bed. "You may know your clandestine surveillance and secret entry, but I know my psychology."

As Sands continued to search under the mattress, Cam unfolded the papers he found in the envelope. "Holy shit," Cam swore as he realized what he was looking at.

Sands looked towards Cam at the exclamation, and Cam started for a second at the sight of him without his sunglasses. He had no idea why it suddenly unnerved him, when he’d walked in moments earlier without any problem. The fake blood wasn’t making it any easier. He supposed he’d never fully get used to it, and he suspected that Sands probably wouldn’t either.

"What is it?" Sands asked anxiously.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he cleared his throat before answering. "False documents… it appears as though Jackson was going to deliver some forged records to a higher up at the Company," Cam said, rifling through them. "They have your signature on them, but…" Cam trailed off and shook his head. "It doesn’t look right. Sands, you have your wallet?"

Taking his right hand out from under the mattress, he retrieved the wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to Cam before returning to his search.

Cam flipped open the leather and took out Sands’ ID. Not lingering on the photo for too long, he started comparing the signatures on the documents with the one on the ID. He was trained to forge false documents, but also trained to catch them as well. It was clear to Cam that the ID and the false documents weren’t signed by the same person. "Someone’s trying to frame you in a big way," Cam said at last, reading some of the information the documents contained.

"Gee, Cam, you think?" Sands asked sarcastically, pulling a small object out from under the mattress. He recognized the feel, shape and size of it instantly, and flipped it between his fingers a few times as Cam spoke.

"These documents… they’re a fake agreement between you and Armando Barillo. They even have Barillo’s signature…" Cam trailed off as he mulled things over in his mind.

"Wow," Sands deadpanned. "In bed with Armando Barillo. What a horrifying thought."

Cam glanced at Sands, then back at the papers in his hands. Folding them up, he put them back in the envelope. Placing the envelope in his pocket, he went over to Jackson’s suitcase and opened it.

Sands started searching the nightstand for any interesting items, and Cam smiled happily when he saw Sands’ change of location. "See, I told you that you wouldn’t find anything under the mattress."

Sands bit back a snicker as he opened the nightstand drawer. Finding nothing of interest, he shut it and walked over to Cam. "You have to get it right one of these days, Cam. It’s the law of averages. However," Sands reached into his pocket and produced his find. "Today just isn’t that day. Better luck next time."

Cam eyed it doubtfully before stating the obvious. "It’s a silver dollar."

Sands shot Cam a trying look. "Really Cam, sometimes I wonder how you graduated from the Farm." With the coin between his fingertips, Sands pressed down on a point near the rim, and the top side of the coin popped up to reveal a secret compartment. "Silver dollar for your thoughts, Cam? Are there microdots inside?"

Cam took a step closer to get a better look inside the small compartment. "Well, I’ll be damned. Microdots."

Sands closed the fake silver dollar. "This might just be the proof I need," Sands drawled, tucking the coin safely into his back pocket. "Then again, it might have nothing to do with me." Sands retrieved his pack of cigarettes, and tapped one out as Cam finished going through Jackson’s suitcase.

"Everything has to do with you, Sands. I found that out a long time ago."

Sands nodded as he took a drag. "You’re learning, Eric. You’re learning."

Go to Sands Through The Hourglass: Part 8 ~>