Boreal Forest, Ontario, Canada. Dusk.Meanwhile, inside the facility...
Fury's head was still throbbing from the explosion and he couldn't see entirely straight yet, but he stuck the broken off branch (wasn't hard to find one, they were smack in the middle of a forest, after all) into the mud anyway and began to sketch out a box. They were running out of time, and lost second could mean a lost life--specifically, an agent's.
"This is the research facility," said Fury, jabbing the box with the his makeshift pointer. "Ex-Hydra, but still active. This," dragging the branch, he drew a thick line in front of the box, "is where the damn bombs went off. They knew we were coming, and they set a trap, which we--I--walked us right into."
Fury gritted his teeth. It'd been a long time since he'd been outplayed like that, and his fumble had left his ego as bruised as his ribs. His first instinct was that someone had betrayed them, but he didn't have the freedom to pursue that now. Again, time was of the essence.
He drew a cross inside the box, splitting it into four smaller boxes. He pointed at the top left one. "Northwest quadrant, that's where Hurricane Squadron last checked in before the fireworks. There's a set of underground tunnels here--" a network of wavy, crudely drawn lines joined the eastern end of the diagram, "--which is used to discreetly transfer patients to and from the facility. I'm sure the place is under some kind of lockdown mode but the tunnels are still our best ticket in. Your objectives are to find Hurricane Squadron and extract 'em."
Fury looked up from the diagram and glared at the not-so-distant building. "Mine is to burn that shithole to the ground." He turned to his team, Squadron Storm. "Questions?"
Once the facility realised there were intruders on the grounds, they issued Code 99C, which triggered an army of mercenaries to emerge--seemingly out of nowhere--and fill every corridor and doorway. The explosive blasts from outside had knocked out Squadron Hurricane's communications, while the simultaneous blows delivered to the back of their heads took care of their consciousnesses.
Fifteen minutes later, blinding white light jolted the agents back into cognizance. They had been lined up in a neat row and were bound to surgical beds. Five mercenaries had parked themselves close to the operation room's only exit, each the smug owner of a loaded M60. There was someone else in the room--a doctor, by the looks of his dingy lab coat. His freckled, bald head was marred with greasy clumps of auburn around his cherry-red ears and he had a beard so thick it must have been responsible for his hunched stature. He had a scalpel in his hand and he did not look happy."Who sent you?"
he screeched at his hostages, generously covering their faces with a layer of spit and scorn. He waved his scalpel wildly about and then held it to the cheek of the closest agent. "Who. Sent. You?"
No doubt that Storm Squadron was on their way, but who knew how long they'd take. If they wanted to stay alive, Hurricane Squadron would either need to stall or devise their own exit strategy.
@ALPHONSO MACKENZIE @ELENA RODRIGUEZ
& Open to 1-2 more SHIELD folks!
Notes: Feel free to decide where to put your characters, though it'd be nice if Squadrons Hurricane and Storm were relatively even. Don't hesitate to ask if the premise is unclear, and feel free to make things up as we go! (The number of characters are limited to keep the thread manageable, so if spots get filled and you wanted to join, don't worry, future SHIELD missions are planned. :D)