"Hey. Coffee?"
A white, small styrofoam cup landed onto the table.
"Sure. Thanks."
Clay Quartermain raised the cup in front of him up to his lips, taking a short sip before resting it on the table again.
"Stale," he said.
"Hey, that's handled on your end. I just fill the cup."
Pulling up a chair next to Clay, the middle-aged assistant director rested himself on the rather uncomfortable metal chair, taking a swig of coffee from his own styrofoam cup.
"Stale," the assistant director said.
Clay leaned back on his seat, though his eyes remained trained across the window into the scene playing out before him at this very moment.
"Portland lost again."
"Told you so, Darrick," Clay grinned out the corner of his mouth.
"To the Wizards, of all people," Darrick said.
"You gotta let it go. Trailblazer glory's not coming back for a long, long time."
"Just you wait, my friend. My faith tells me they will reign once again in my lifetime."
"Yeah, and I'll be Chief of Staff before my dick goes limp," Clay slyly remarked.
"Hey, if Vin Diesel can make it as an actor, anything's possible," Darrick replied, chasing his words down with another gulp of coffee. Focusing his attention at the scene Clay himself was observing through the window, Darrick looked at the black-hair woman sitting alone in the middle of the room, behind a small desk. While her lips mouthed inaudible syllables, her words spoke out at normal volume through the recording equipment set up in the room Darrick and Clay were in.
From Darrick's observations, the black-hair woman didn't look happy to be here.
"How's she doing, Clay?" Darrick asked.
"What do you think? She feels like shit." Clay took another sip of coffee. "She needs back on sick bay. She needs a bed, not a hearing."
"We need to know what she knows ASAP. We need to know what happened in this op while things are still fresh."
"How are the investigations going?" Clay asked.
"Field teams are pulling their hairs out," Darrick replied. "There's nothing out there. Whatever the explosion didn't destroy, the snowstorm erased"
"Any survivors?"
"Aside from her? None."
"Any SIGNS of survivors?"
"Heh," Darrick snorted, "well the field teams have just started. I'll tell you right now, though, I doubt we'll be able to get anything out of this other than rubble and snow."
"Shit." Clay let out a deep sigh. "How much time do we have left out there?"
"Right now? We have as much time as we need to do our thing. Canadian locals are getting curious though. We'll have to wipe up before they start getting antsy."
"Right. Of course."
Neither of them spoke while they listened to Agent Adelman's testimony through the soundproof room through the one-way mirror. She had just finished describing how the Raven Team leader, Mark Guierro ordered them "go red" as Darrick walked into the observation room. She was currently re-clarifying to CIA Agent Robert Gains just how much difficulty it took for the team to put down their bogies.
Robert Gains asked how many rounds it took for Adelman to take out her opponent.
She estimated somewhere in the double digits.
Gains blurted a surprised "what?" and proceeded to remark on how unlikely her answer was.
Adelman re-affirmed her answer.
Gains asked just how possible her answer was.
Adelman colorfully stated she had "no fucking idea."
Clay Quartermain chuckled at the remark.
"So, zombies, huh?" Darrick said with noticeable skepticism.
"I don't know," Clay said, rubbing his forehead. Reaching his hand out to the nearby edge of the table, he pulled towards him a light-brown folder with white and red stripes marking its edges. In the middle of the folder were the words CLASSIFIED in bold, red lettering. To the left of the stamp was the CIA emblem, with the eagle head above the starred shield. To the right of the stamp was the SHIELD emblem, the red and blue ink securely dried onto the folder. Clay flipped it open and thumbed through several sheets of paper before pulling one of them out.
"The transmission log," Darrick said, eyeing the paper Clay pulled out.
"Correct. Supposedly, about this time Raven Team radioed us for further instructions. They weren't able to meet with Burnside, and requested a new COA."
"That's when we told them to push forward," said Darrick.
Several more moments of listening passed them by before either of them said a word.
"We're doing the right thing," Clay spoke.
"I hope so," Darrick said.
"General Fury made the right call. The Joint Chiefs made the right decision."
"I hope so."
"An entire city was annihalated. On American soil. Because of them, Umbrella."
"I know."
Agent Sharon Carter refocused the hearing back to Adelman's narrative in the opposite room, while yet another awkward silence passed between SHIELD Field Operations Chief Agent Clay Quartermain and CIA Assistant Director Darrick Elger.
"We're doing the right thing," Clay spoke.
"I hope so," Darrick remarked.
They sat in silence and continued to listen to Adelman's disposition, how the Raven Team Leader Mark Guierro called back to base, where they went afterwards, and how those particularly unmarked blackhawks went down . . .
A white, small styrofoam cup landed onto the table.
"Sure. Thanks."
Clay Quartermain raised the cup in front of him up to his lips, taking a short sip before resting it on the table again.
"Stale," he said.
"Hey, that's handled on your end. I just fill the cup."
Pulling up a chair next to Clay, the middle-aged assistant director rested himself on the rather uncomfortable metal chair, taking a swig of coffee from his own styrofoam cup.
"Stale," the assistant director said.
Clay leaned back on his seat, though his eyes remained trained across the window into the scene playing out before him at this very moment.
"Portland lost again."
"Told you so, Darrick," Clay grinned out the corner of his mouth.
"To the Wizards, of all people," Darrick said.
"You gotta let it go. Trailblazer glory's not coming back for a long, long time."
"Just you wait, my friend. My faith tells me they will reign once again in my lifetime."
"Yeah, and I'll be Chief of Staff before my dick goes limp," Clay slyly remarked.
"Hey, if Vin Diesel can make it as an actor, anything's possible," Darrick replied, chasing his words down with another gulp of coffee. Focusing his attention at the scene Clay himself was observing through the window, Darrick looked at the black-hair woman sitting alone in the middle of the room, behind a small desk. While her lips mouthed inaudible syllables, her words spoke out at normal volume through the recording equipment set up in the room Darrick and Clay were in.
From Darrick's observations, the black-hair woman didn't look happy to be here.
"How's she doing, Clay?" Darrick asked.
"What do you think? She feels like shit." Clay took another sip of coffee. "She needs back on sick bay. She needs a bed, not a hearing."
"We need to know what she knows ASAP. We need to know what happened in this op while things are still fresh."
"How are the investigations going?" Clay asked.
"Field teams are pulling their hairs out," Darrick replied. "There's nothing out there. Whatever the explosion didn't destroy, the snowstorm erased"
"Any survivors?"
"Aside from her? None."
"Any SIGNS of survivors?"
"Heh," Darrick snorted, "well the field teams have just started. I'll tell you right now, though, I doubt we'll be able to get anything out of this other than rubble and snow."
"Shit." Clay let out a deep sigh. "How much time do we have left out there?"
"Right now? We have as much time as we need to do our thing. Canadian locals are getting curious though. We'll have to wipe up before they start getting antsy."
"Right. Of course."
Neither of them spoke while they listened to Agent Adelman's testimony through the soundproof room through the one-way mirror. She had just finished describing how the Raven Team leader, Mark Guierro ordered them "go red" as Darrick walked into the observation room. She was currently re-clarifying to CIA Agent Robert Gains just how much difficulty it took for the team to put down their bogies.
Robert Gains asked how many rounds it took for Adelman to take out her opponent.
She estimated somewhere in the double digits.
Gains blurted a surprised "what?" and proceeded to remark on how unlikely her answer was.
Adelman re-affirmed her answer.
Gains asked just how possible her answer was.
Adelman colorfully stated she had "no fucking idea."
Clay Quartermain chuckled at the remark.
"So, zombies, huh?" Darrick said with noticeable skepticism.
"I don't know," Clay said, rubbing his forehead. Reaching his hand out to the nearby edge of the table, he pulled towards him a light-brown folder with white and red stripes marking its edges. In the middle of the folder were the words CLASSIFIED in bold, red lettering. To the left of the stamp was the CIA emblem, with the eagle head above the starred shield. To the right of the stamp was the SHIELD emblem, the red and blue ink securely dried onto the folder. Clay flipped it open and thumbed through several sheets of paper before pulling one of them out.
"The transmission log," Darrick said, eyeing the paper Clay pulled out.
"Correct. Supposedly, about this time Raven Team radioed us for further instructions. They weren't able to meet with Burnside, and requested a new COA."
"That's when we told them to push forward," said Darrick.
Several more moments of listening passed them by before either of them said a word.
"We're doing the right thing," Clay spoke.
"I hope so," Darrick said.
"General Fury made the right call. The Joint Chiefs made the right decision."
"I hope so."
"An entire city was annihalated. On American soil. Because of them, Umbrella."
"I know."
Agent Sharon Carter refocused the hearing back to Adelman's narrative in the opposite room, while yet another awkward silence passed between SHIELD Field Operations Chief Agent Clay Quartermain and CIA Assistant Director Darrick Elger.
"We're doing the right thing," Clay spoke.
"I hope so," Darrick remarked.
They sat in silence and continued to listen to Adelman's disposition, how the Raven Team Leader Mark Guierro called back to base, where they went afterwards, and how those particularly unmarked blackhawks went down . . .