The mutant lumbered forwards a bit and chuffed, then called up into the hole an all clear.
In Russian.
Russian.
Christ Clint hated Russia and everything about it. Only thing that came out of Russia worth anything was Natasha. It just had to be Russia.
Another three bodies dropped down out of the hole, armed to the teeth with M15s and tactical gear. Clint grit his teeth and slunk slowly around, slipping as close as possible. He slowly cranked up his hearing aids, but his Russian wasn't the best. He relied too much on Natasha for it.
While Tank stalked off to start pacing around the room like a junkyard Rottweiler the other three stayed alert but relaxed. Clint had no doubt that everyone else in the building was either dead or in critical condition for that level of casual picking and poking around on the tables. One of them slung a backpack down and started to pull free a rig that would make for an easy method of transport to haul the artifacts up and out of the warehouse. Without a distance and advantage height of height Clint felt clunky and with a pistol it was worse. This wasn't going to end well. There was no way to pick off the numbers without the others realizing that the fight was on.
The possibility of a shootout was very real. There was no way Clint could let any of the enemy team or any of the equipment leave the facility.
Slowly Clint pulled out his phone, dialed an emergency number to Natasha then hit speaker, laying the phone out under a table as near to the operatives as he dared without diving in for a fight, he knew she'd understand the situation in a matter of moments and back up would be imminent.
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Date: 2014-02-22 02:33 am (UTC)In Russian.
Russian.
Christ Clint hated Russia and everything about it. Only thing that came out of Russia worth anything was Natasha. It just had to be Russia.
Another three bodies dropped down out of the hole, armed to the teeth with M15s and tactical gear. Clint grit his teeth and slunk slowly around, slipping as close as possible. He slowly cranked up his hearing aids, but his Russian wasn't the best. He relied too much on Natasha for it.
While Tank stalked off to start pacing around the room like a junkyard Rottweiler the other three stayed alert but relaxed. Clint had no doubt that everyone else in the building was either dead or in critical condition for that level of casual picking and poking around on the tables. One of them slung a backpack down and started to pull free a rig that would make for an easy method of transport to haul the artifacts up and out of the warehouse. Without a distance and advantage height of height Clint felt clunky and with a pistol it was worse. This wasn't going to end well. There was no way to pick off the numbers without the others realizing that the fight was on.
The possibility of a shootout was very real. There was no way Clint could let any of the enemy team or any of the equipment leave the facility.
Slowly Clint pulled out his phone, dialed an emergency number to Natasha then hit speaker, laying the phone out under a table as near to the operatives as he dared without diving in for a fight, he knew she'd understand the situation in a matter of moments and back up would be imminent.