...............Sands..............

Sands and his unwelcome mariachi tag along were at a hotel room. (They had killed most of the cartel by pushing the car on top of them). Sands was adamant about not leaving town. El said that it was foolish to stay, and Sands retorted that he was a coward; the real reason was Rana. He had to know if she was dead or captured.

He didn't bother telling the mariachi, just sat cleaning his gun furiously with the musician watching him from the chair across the room. If that man didn't stop staring he'd shoot his eyes out from here, he could practically hear them looking at him.

"Who's Gina?" the Mexican asked Sands, who slammed his gun down on the table in response.

"How'd you find out about her?" he asked; angry that he was being predictable.

"I found her wallet in the car you came in" he replied and Sands picked up the gun again and began cleaning it all over. Maybe he obsessed over his guns too much, but they were the only eyes he had left and he needed them to work in order to stay alive.

"She's an acquaintance" he said cagily working along the barrel.

"An acquaintance or an associate?" he asked, Sands supposed he was referring to the CIA.

"Well El, she didn't seem to be after my blood so I think she was an acquaintance" he drawled tightly.

The mariachi blew air out of his nose and stood.

"Where is she?" he asked sternly. Sands flipped him off.

"Ok then. Why were those cartels chasing you?" Sands gave the same response.

"They captured her and you ran away?" he asked Sands in a disgusted voice.

"Fuck you El, I was following orders. And I don't usually take on the cartel with a pissant revolver. I usually have traps set for them because I happen to have no eyes" he growled in anger and threw the cloth down. El stared at him passively.

"So, we rescue her, and keep driving" the mariachi reasoned to himself.

"EEP! Wrong! Here's how it goes. I attack their base, kill everyone, get the girl and catch a bus outta this town" Sands informed him.

"You can't see" the man said flatly. Sands frowned, and before El could blink there was a new gun in the CIA agents hands, trained on him with terrifying accuracy.

"I don't need to" he grinned, an action full of sociopathic glee.

..............Rana...............

It was dark. The torture had ended for today. She now doubted that she could walk out of here anyway. If feeling was anything to go by, her feet currently resembled shredded meat. So far she had been burnt, cut, beaten, mutilated and now whipped with an impossibly fine knife. Didn't tomorrow just look great. She must have passed out sometime in the feet lashing. She didn't remember the end of it. She recalled unavoidable tears streaming down her face. And she also remembered that she had not opened her mouth. Suit had asked her biennial questions but she had ignored him. Probably because she couldn't be so sure she wouldn't scream if she opened her mouth.

"This is the punishment you receive for living the life you did" he had said just as she blacked out. She had of course welcomed unconsciousness. It wasn't painful when you were zoned out.

God did she want coke. God was she bored and frustrated. It was good to feel that familiar surge of hatred and desire for vengeance. She was going to escape, and when she was healed she would come back here, and no one would be left unmarred. She'd take fingers, toes, ears, hands, feet and heads. There would be a pile of corpses so high that you'd be able to see Jupiter half way up it. She grinned. She was doing okay. She would be fine.

She was going to make it...

..........El..........

The day dawned clear and grey. The sun filtered colour into the world in the east. He was currently watching its progress from the hotel window. Sands was loading and preparing guns behind him. He listened to the metallic clicks and familiar chinks. Today blood would be spilled. By his hand. He crossed himself and bowed his head for a second before turning to find Sands standing, guns in all the right holsters and clips tucked everywhere.

"Okay. Walk" he ordered and El obeyed with a roll of his eyes. He seized his case as he left. It was heavier than usual, it always was before a bloodbath. Almost as if it could smell the death it was about to cause and was already trying to add to El's burdens.

Sands was silent in the car. He had hardly slept last night; the Mariachi had had to listen to him obsessively clean his guns. The man was a psychopath.

El glanced at the former CIA agent. He was seemingly looking out the car window in pure boredom, tapping two fingers on his leg in a random, off-beat tune.

The man set him on edge. He couldn't help but feel nervous and wary around the American. Last night he had slept with a knife in his hands and his eyes mostly open.

Sands on the other hand emanated an air of comfortable ease. But El had no misconceptions that Sands wasn't about to spring at the slightest sound.

"Watch the road El" Sands drawled and El nearly jumped out of his skin. Sands knew he had been staring at him.

He diligently studied the road ahead but his mind kept going over the whole situation...

After tipping the rusted car they were using as a shield on the advancing cartel they had both fled down the other side of the scrap pile. Sands had been slower than the mariachi and El had deduced that he was tired from the running he had done earlier, however when they had been fired on the CIA agent had tripped and fell. His sunglasses coming off. El had turned around impatiently and shot the cartel that was firing at them. Then looked at Sands to see a sight that almost stopped his heart. Sands was groping for his lost sunglasses, which were out of his reach. In place of his eyes were two deep chasms of darkness. He was blind!
The mariachi had felt something was off in the CIA agent, more than the last time they had met, but this, this was the biggest shock he had encountered. How had the man managed to kill those cartel? How had he been able to survive this long? However a few stray bullets had put him back in action. El picked up the sunglasses and handed then to Sands, who was on his knees searching still. Sands had snatched them, rammed them back on his face then continued on. They made it onto the street and Sands had run ahead, then slowed to a walk once he was back among people. El had followed close by him. "Stop following me so closely would you; you stick out like a penis in a convent", the agent snapped. Referring to his height.

"No more than you" El hissed back. "Everyone here is wearing white or other colours".

"Fuck you El, I knew that" Sands growled back. Then moved ahead and into a dingy bar/hotel. Where they had got a room.

Now he was somehow going to rescue a girl who was no doubt as sick and twisted as Sands. However this girl confused him. What did Sands want with her? Did she have vital information? Was she a former agent too? A relation? Maybe Sands just liked her, but the prospect of Sands liking anyone was ridiculous and El found that he could not determine exactly what the relationship was. Sands had spoken about her like she was nothing very important, yet his actions suggested that she was indeed something special. He wondered if Sands even knew what the relationship was, he seemed just as confused and undecided as the mariachi, only he concealed it better.

..............Rana..............

The door opened at the end of the room. Inside she felt her spirit quake which in turn caused her fury to spike. This time close to six toughs came in, surrounding a well dressed man. He was wearing a white suit, with frilly lapels and ridiculous other add ons. His shoes shone like the sun, and she found her throat constrict in dislike. He radiated power, wealth and corruption to the core. His very being seemed to shine. From his overly greased hair, his shiny buttons, his luminescent suit and his pearly white teeth. Only his eyes were without shine. Without life in fact. Only one mental word came to mind. Fuck.

At the back of the group was Dr Death. The questioning was about to begin.

......Sands..........

"MOVE!" the mariachi shouted leaping out from around the corner and firing as many bullets into the cartel advancing down the hall as he could. Sands threw himself after the man. This place was like fort Knox, hard to get in, impossible to get out. He was through half his clips already. Everything that moved he shot, and it seemed everything that moved was a fresh cartel.

El seemed rather comfortable with this whole situation, like he knew how many to expect. Sands was starting to wonder if it was worth it, at least she'd be alive, unless they killed her out of spite for the two men. No one would defend a corpse so well...

He spun hearing something move behind him, getting off the killer shot before turning and shooting a cartel that had stepped out of a room ahead, thus saving El's life, seeing as the mariachi was currently reloading. "Nice shot" the Mexican said. Sands scowled.

..........El...........

"Well it's all very fun shooting vermin all day El but I am in a bit of a hurry and wasting ammo is not getting me closer to what I came for, could we speed this up?" the blind man drawled in his usual tone of voice. El frowned. He moved ahead, not encountering any more cartel.
He knew this was the right wing, the walls were aluminum coated, as all cartel torture chambers were. He moved down the hall, kicking in one door at a time. Nearly all were empty, then he got to a door with a doctor's cart outside, the utensils had yet to be cleaned. His intense eyes fell on the blood coated objects, then swiveled to the door. He kicked it in; at the other end of the room a small figure tied to a chair slowly raised its head. She looked straight at him, her eyes clear and calculating. Brown hair, hazel eyes and a complete bleeding wreck. This must be Gina.

...........Sands...........

The first proof Sands got that he was in the right place was Rana's croaky voice questioning who the Mariachi was.

"Who, who are you?" she whispered hoarsely.

Sands assumed she was directing it at the mariachi. Both men continued forward.

"Who..." she began again before El introduced himself.

"I am nothing but a fellow tradesman" he said as he went to untie her.

She nodded, then stopped the action with a grimace.

"We're leaving now" he said as he began to work on the knots.

Sands felt for her arm, tied to the chairs arms, then his fingers found the knot. He undid it; every slight tremor up the rope caused her to pant. He pulled it off of her, took her arm, the mariachi took the other, and lifted her clean out of the chair. She shuddered violently, and Sands clenched her arm tighter. No one said anything as all three moved to the door.

"Can't you at least stand?" Sands said angrily as she all but fell even with his hold. Causing him to have to use both hands to get her up again. She didn't say anything, but she did plant her feet and stand by herself. El interjected.

"Don't" he said sharply. "You'll make it worse, here let me carry you" he said moving towards her.

"No" she snapped. "I can bloody stand on my own two feet" and then she lurched forwards, so erratically that even Sands could sense that she was far from stable.

"What the hell's wrong with her?" he asked the Mariachi. The man grunted.

"Her feet are cut", was all he said and moved after her. Sands tentatively put his foot to where she had just been standing. The floor was slick with blood. He frowned angrily and strode after the other two. He should have known that she would not lean on them unless absolutely necessary, he was angry that she had been caught and he had to be here, he was angry at whoever had hurt her and he was angry at the thought of what she had done. Had she screamed, did she have to go through previous memories, or had she remained silent and unresponsive, letting them do what they wanted to her? Perhaps what angered him most was that he felt angry for her, which meant that they had a relationship of sorts.

He stopped next to the jingling musician, who was a fair bit behind their rescue-ee. "What's she doing now?" he asked in annoyance.

"Leaning against the wall" the man replied smartly, sounding thoroughly pissed at Sands as if it was entirely his fault that she was hurt.

Sands sighed irritably. "How bad is it?" he asked as if forced to against his will. The Mariachi turned to him, Sands heard his material rustle.

"She looks like a walking corpse" he said bluntly and moved away from the CIA agent. Sands gritted his teeth and followed.

They were halfway down the exit hall when a man stepped out of a side room. He was wearing a suit. Without warning Rana sprung forward, ramming her shoulder into him and giving a cry as she did. El rushed forwards to her aid, Sands followed. The man she attacked was on his back, she had her hands firmly around his neck and was throttling him with all her might. However that wasn't very much because she had lost too much blood and was barely conscious.

"Asshole" she hissed as he gripped her hands and arduously pushed them away from his neck. She was evidently using everything left in her. It was an impressive amount after two days of torture. However the man dislodged her a few seconds later and flipped her around so that it was he who was pressing her to the ground. Unfortunately for him El had just come in range and he kicked the man off of her. Even as the man slid away Sands had his gun trained on him and fired despite the Mariachi's call not to.

Rana was gagging as she rubbed her neck to get air back into her throat.

She gave a snort of disgust at the dead man before her, then using the wall as support regained her feet. She wobbled for a few seconds then hardened her resolve and moved forwards down the hall without a backwards glance.

..........El..........

They got to the car, and Rana was helped into the back, she had all but crawled the last four meters. She managed to get her torso and body into the car, but her legs were too much for her to lift, so El had to take the protruding limbs and tuck them into the car; as he was doing this he heard her sigh. "The price we pay for the lives we lead" she seemed to mumble to herself; her eyes were shut. El looked at her. She almost looked dead. He shook his head, someone so young. At her age he was walking around Mexico dreaming of being a mariachi like his father and his father before him.

What dreams and ambitions did she have? Not to get shot before the age of twenty one?

He closed the door, and ran to his side as a shout sounded from above and he saw a sniper flash on the rooftop.

He ducked in as the first bullet hit the bonnet. Sands was in the passenger seat, looking supremely bored as bullets buried themselves into the aluminum of the car.

"Gee El, whenever you feel like it" he drawled. There was a sliver of urgency in that tone but it was all mild annoyance.

El didn't reply, just started the engine and slammed the car into reverse, before successfully completing a spectacular spin that directed them the right way, and zooming out of Culiacan.