Author's Note: Not my characters. This is just a clip of the movie that I always wondered about from Sands's point of view.

I Don't Hear You Running

"I don't hear you running." I say to the boy, whose face is a shadow in my memories. By chance, I'd found him again, and he had been a great help, but now it was time for him to go. I waited, and, finally, the sound of the pattering of small feet echoed back to my ears. Good, I thought, glad to have him out of the way. The echos become softer, and I know that he probably safe.

Now, I am in the center of the city, and there are enemies around. I can't see them, obviously; as I said to the cab driver, I literally have no eyes. I can't tell where they are, I too busy hoping that my small guide would run off.

Let's dance, I think to my hidden foes, and begin firing my gun at random. Every shot sends a stab of pain through my skull; my hearing is so fine-tuned that each of the shots is a crack of thunder, despite the silencer on the gun. Finally, with skull-splitting crack, I reload the gun, and wait.

There are no thuds, so I know I haven't hit them. If these men are anything like the men I trained with, then they will waste no time to scoff at my helplessness.

I'm not disappointed. They openly laugh, not bothering to be quiet. I stand perfectly still, and my ears pick out where every hefty chortle comes from.

Without thinking, I aim the gun and fire. Thunder rolls in my head again, but this time it is followed by a satisfying thud, and the shrieks of a man. A little low. If he's still screaming, then I might as well have missed. Another shot, and his screams are cut off.

Evil Thug Number Two has mostly recovered from the shock of a blind man with a bloody face (I can feel the blood congealing on my cheeks; it's a wonder the small boy agreed to help me with how I must look) shooting his friend, and he shoots me.

Bullets embed themselves into my thighs, and I drop to my knees. My body disobeys me, and I find myself laying down on the cobble stones, rough and dusty beneath me. The slight weight of my sunglasses is gone, but the reassuring weight of the gun is still in my hand. I can't do anything with the gun yet; my fall has completely disoriented me and shattered my concentration.

In a desperate attempt to regain my directions, I point my face upwards. The heat of the sun warms my flesh. I relax, and now I can hear the clicking of the boots of my enemy, cautiously approaching me. A few deep breathes, and I concentrate on those clicks, slowly growing louder.

Forcing myself into a kneeling position, I turn my ear to the clicks, concentrating fully on them.

Once again giving myself to instinct and reflex, I shoot.

The man screams, and there is a knocking noise as he hits his knees.

I listen again, and fire.

The scream fades, and there is a heavy thud. My ears tell me that I am truly alone, despite the distant sounds of gunfire.

Briefly, I consider crawling to the doors that must be somewhere in front of me, but, as soon as my body is stretched out, fatigue overwhelms me.

Livin' La Vida Loca... and then I submit to the blackness.

AN: Thanks for reading, please review. Got any requests on a different scene?