The fuck-mook who just doesn't give a damn about anyone else. That's what people think of me. I think it's pretty accurate to say the least. Why should I give a damn about them when no one cares about what happens to me? Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitching about it, makes it a lot easier when I have to kill the son of a bitches. It's just a job after all, a paycheck and a comfortable hotel room that people learn to stay the hell away from.

I like it to be quiet, other then from when I can treasure others company, yeah, right before I kill the pathetic morons. I'm Agent Sands, just my name invokes horror and agony at the thought of being my partner. Don't worry, I work alone I like it better that way. It's always,

'No, Sands don't kill the innocent! Don't shoot the cook! Leave the tequila in the bar'

It was a decision I haven't regretted over the years at all. Everyone thought I was terminally deranged anyway, might as well give them what they want, right? Okay, so maybe they don't want this, but fuck them. I'll do as I please and if the CIA doesn't like it they can send someone after me.

Good luck to them though, I never follow the rules which is what makes me so damn good at what I do. It's not arrogance, it's truth, while the other recruits poured over the handbook they gave out, I used it for kindling. That was rather amusing. . . to leave a burning pile of pages in various places on the base. Never failed to brighten my day.

Those days are over, now I'm on a 'mission' to Mexico. Whatever, just another way for them to fuck me over. See here's how I think the situation goes, the big boss is questioned by a little shit commander. 'Where should we send Sands? He's a menace to the CIA.' Lots of ass kissing later he gets me sent to Mexico. My mission in Mexico?

I don't really care. I'll do what I'm sent here for and then maybe kill something for fun. I have a decent feeling about this place, like I said before. . . Mexico's my beat and I'm walking it. This's a lot better than some other looneyville town in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Oh, bar. Bars good. They better have good tequila. I don't really care for that stuff but it keeps me awake and creates an interesting image. Since when would Agent Sands go into something sober? Oh no, I've trained myself to use a gun when I'm stone drunk and swirling. Funny thing is no one can tell, humors still the same and since I can shoot. . . who gives a flying fuck?

I meet the eye of a pretty woman decked out in black and leather. Well, hello beautiful. There's time for a quick stop, break Mexico in a little. A teasing glint flashes in her eyes. Oh, no, sugar-butt. Teasing isn't gonna work this time. I'm through with all the bitches whose main role is dominatrix.

Screw that. I order tequila and watch the dark haired woman sashay over. Come on, lets play a little. . .

"American?" she asks smiling seductively. So Americans make her hot do they?

"Yeah." I take a drink of the liquor and watch as she perches herself on the seat next to me.

This is going to actually be a lot of fun, should she not expect love declarations and shit like that. She rests her arm on the table and leans forward to take a sip of my drink. A good view she lays out, too. I grin appreciatively and she licks her lips.

I put down the required money on the table and get my stuff together. I follow her out of the bar and turn my cell off. Resting my hat on my head more comfortably I walk by her side now. I'm not going to follow her like some sick lost puppy. Shoot me, kill me first.

"Soon good, no?" she asks.

"Very good." I reply. She backs me into an alley and runs her hands over my shoulders.

"All American." She laughs. Her dark eyes are lit with humor, I don't understand all of her language but eyes never lie. I snort and bring her back against the wall.

"Can you dig it?" I whisper, then moving into the shadows I can only think one thing. It's good to be in the CIA.