We are the kind of spacers that people talk about under their breath—Sand. Something to keep children tucked tightly in beds. The downtrodden The marginalized. The fringes of society. Those who never had a chance and had no chance given nor favor. With the odds stacked against us, we play our hand. But doubt turns quickly to conviction when staring down the end of a blaster. With no chances given, then what else have we to do but make our luck. And if this blaster makes us feel lucky? So be it. We'll break the chains and crack the cogs. The end of stone and return of Sand is what we offer. If you stare at a granule of Sand long enough, you might see time itself passing by. If you stare at a Sand storm, you might see us riding it over the dunes. We do not bend. We do not break. Nothing can hold back the Sand.