[ Oh, fuck. She doesn't say it out loud when Cain does it for her but that was a reckless call on both his and Fitz's part and it happened too quickly for her to voice any protest; but she isn't running point on this mission. Too many conflicting orders are just as dangerous as reckless ones and she tightens her jaw, resigned, aware it was ultimately necessary. And now the heat is off her, off Markus and Patil. Now she has room to clear a path to the exit.
Just as planned. (Kill, not stun. Decidedly not as planned.) ]
Bloody hell.
[ That's out loud, sharp and under her breath. She rolls back her seconds of footage on her interface, mapping the room again, and then she's up and moving. ]
On the exit.
[ It's a small apartment, not much room for manoeuvring, not much room for stealth. She vaults over the sofa into the open with eyes on the door they all came through, knowing they need to make for the hallway and either the stairs or at the window at the end of it. Fitz needs a clear line of sight and he's not going to get it in here; but if they draw the soldiers away from Markus and Patil, the pair can inch around instead of being pinned. She barely makes it past the coffee table when one of the soldiers closest to her, no doubt signalled by a teammate, whips around β too close to loose a shot β and slams his forearm across her chest, throwing her back from the door and into the wall.
She grunts; the impact winds her, knocks the gun from her hand. He fires, she leans sharply to the side, the bullet pings the wall where her head once was, and she makes a grab for the soldier's gun instead. Two hands cover wrist and grip and she twists the arm back on itself to wrench the shoulder, break the joint, effectively drive the larger combatant to the ground β which she manages, used to fighting men twice her size. But just as she gets control of his weapon, his free hand draws the knife to his thigh and slashes at her leg. That doesn't miss but she staggers back and fires his own weapon back at him.
That doesn't miss either, cracking the armour. She fires again as the soldier tries to get up. Kill, not stun. We'll see. ]
no subject
Just as planned. (Kill, not stun. Decidedly not as planned.) ]
Bloody hell.
[ That's out loud, sharp and under her breath. She rolls back her seconds of footage on her interface, mapping the room again, and then she's up and moving. ]
On the exit.
[ It's a small apartment, not much room for manoeuvring, not much room for stealth. She vaults over the sofa into the open with eyes on the door they all came through, knowing they need to make for the hallway and either the stairs or at the window at the end of it. Fitz needs a clear line of sight and he's not going to get it in here; but if they draw the soldiers away from Markus and Patil, the pair can inch around instead of being pinned. She barely makes it past the coffee table when one of the soldiers closest to her, no doubt signalled by a teammate, whips around β too close to loose a shot β and slams his forearm across her chest, throwing her back from the door and into the wall.
She grunts; the impact winds her, knocks the gun from her hand. He fires, she leans sharply to the side, the bullet pings the wall where her head once was, and she makes a grab for the soldier's gun instead. Two hands cover wrist and grip and she twists the arm back on itself to wrench the shoulder, break the joint, effectively drive the larger combatant to the ground β which she manages, used to fighting men twice her size. But just as she gets control of his weapon, his free hand draws the knife to his thigh and slashes at her leg. That doesn't miss but she staggers back and fires his own weapon back at him.
That doesn't miss either, cracking the armour. She fires again as the soldier tries to get up. Kill, not stun. We'll see. ]