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It's hard to tell time in the windowless lockup where the strike team found themselves. The group is essentially sleeping in shifts, as a few quickly succumbed to exhaustion while others found themselves too wired from adrenaline and unfamiliar surroundings to rest. MODOK left after his lengthy diatribe; they haven't heard from their captors since. A couple of trays of frankly repugnant food were deposited through the door slot at some point, but whatever lackey brought them didn't deign to offer conversation.
After a good number of hours, Sam Wilson finally rises from his unconsciousness. He tries to sit up from his bare metal bunk, but finds that the various splints and dressings Poindexter improvised for his injuries make for fairly effective hobbles. He settles for lifting his head and scanning around for anyone who might be awake. "What the hell happened?" he asks in an unsteady voice.
*
Sousa has the long range radio carried by agents and, unless it's been taken away, has been trying to transmit S.O.S. signals to…whomever might manage to catch it. He doesn't know if it's going through, but dammit, he's going to try. He hasn't slept or eaten much so he is awake and standing against one of the prison walls when Sam wakes up. As soon as he catches sound and movement coming from the bunk he limps his way over, "Don't get up, Agent Wilson. You…flew into a wall and are pretty messed up. Just rest, all right?"
*
Amadeus is up and about still, though he does eye the tray of repugnant food warily. No good could come from eating any of that. He's got his stash of junk food stowed away on his person, but he is saving that for when he needs it. For the most part, he seems fairly calm about the situation for the time being. When Wilson wakes up, he looks over and raises a brow to him. "We got abducted by a giant floating head with infant limbs for purposes unclear," he tells him and starts walking the perimeter of their prison.
"He's right, though. You really shouldn't get up." He looks to Sousa then and nods his head. "So, this is a little bad. No unlimited access to junk food means soon I'll be thinking at a much slower capacity. We're going to have to figure out a pattern…wait for them to slip up."
*
"Yeah, not going to have too much trouble with that order, Chief," Sam says, wry even in this state. He shifts slightly, again testing the limits of his range of movement, but finds those limits pretty restrictive. "I flew into a wall, though? I thought I was the guy who could use the wings." He sounds embarrassed: his ability to perform death-defying stunts in the air without maiming himself is his entire selling point as an operative.
The pilot turns his head toward Cho, eyebrows rising. "A giant floating head," he echoes skeptically, turning to Sousa for confirmation. "I saw something float up out of that hatch Poindexter got open, but I didn't get a good look. We're… we're sure it's a floating head?"
It does seem odd that their captors never bothered to search or disarm them. Either MODOK is entirely negligent or recklessly confident in his ability to keep them contained. Still, Sousa hasn't been able to confirm any sort of signal with his radio, so their countermeasures must be considerable. And, of course, it's impossible to tell where they are.
*
"We're all going to have to figure out a way to stay on our toes, no matter the circumstances." He also didn't eat the rancid food that was brought. "If you have food, I highly recommend rationing it out among the others so that we can have at least something in our stomachs that won't make us ill." That's said to Cho. He then looks to Wilson, "The wall sort of slammed into you, to be honest. You were doing just fine. And yeah, that's what it looked like. I've never seen anything like it," although he saw a lot of new things this mission.
"We need to figure out how to prevent that thing from…what did it say? 'Know what we know'. Could be torture, so we have to be strong. If we can get one of those HYDRA guns," because he doesn't know what else to call it, "Maybe that'll do something against it?"
*
"Not entirely certain, no," Amadeus says, lifting his shoulders in a subtle shrug. "It could be a projection of photons somehow, but anything capable of that sort of thing is terrifying for reasons that can disregard whether or not Tubesock is in fact a giant floating head." Pulling a sucker from his pocket and unwrapping it then, he starts to pace just a little bit. "Because now he's also got his hands on hydrogen bombs." Tucking the sucker into his lips, he continues to think on the subject.
"Mm," he says to Sam then. "I don't mind. Though what I have actually has no nutritional value whatsoever. You might be better off eating the gruel for the protein at the very least. If you want a Snickers bar to make it less awful, then you're welcome to it." Pressing his tongue out between his lips, he starts to once again look around at their cells. His eyes finally rest on Sousa once again. "Yeah. I'd like to see precisely how they basically built and particle accelerator that's that…small. To power those weapons. It's definitely gamma. I wish Banner was here." He sighs in frustration.
*
"Jerk-ass wall," Wilson murmurs resentfully. "Jerk-ass head. Jerk-ass Banner." That third comment seems a bit out of place.
He's silent for a while, mulling over Cho's dire words, then continues, "We need to get a message out. Maybe some of us try to fight, but we still need to figure out what they're planning and tell SHIELD. We're out of time — now that these guys know we're on to them, they're going to move up their schedule." He sighs, settling his head back down against the bare bunk, then turns to Sousa. "I hate to say it, but if they start interrogating us, that might not be a bad way to get some hints about what they're trying. Play along, pretend to know more than you do, see if they'll name any specifics."
*
"If it's HYDRA, then it's Schmidt, and it's about twenty years old…" but that doesn't stop it's efficacy. "I've been trying to send a signal, but I don't know if it's gotten through." Sousa looks about at the others, "Some should definitely fight their way out of here. Get the injured and the doctor out. We need a distraction. I'll try to get them to take me first for the interrogation so you all can provide the distraction and get out."
*
A short snort of laughter emits from Amadeus to Sam's words. With his arms folded across his chest, he looks over to him and shakes his head. "This is all Banner's fault, clearly." There's a sort of joking affection there, though. Studying Sam for the moment, he considers his take on the matter quietly. "Excellent point, that," he says, nodding his head slowly. A look to Sousa is given then and Amadeus shakes his head. "That would be an entirely useless sacrifice. No offense. You're already at a disadvantage with your leg. Going up first lowers your chances of survival to exactly zero and we gain nothing." Taking a breath, Cho finally shifts his attention between the two of them. "I should go first. There's a lot of data I can collect and recall when we need it."
*
"I tried to pull Banner in on this — brief him on the situation, see if he had any ideas," Wilson tells Cho with a twist of his lip. "No offense, kid, but you should rethink your opinion that he has his situation 'under control.' His little green friend nearly put me through a wall." He takes a short, sharp breath, then adds, "I am really not having good luck with walls, lately."
Turning to Sousa, he continues, "Chief, I think it's pretty obvious who the liability here is." One of them is missing a leg, but gets around just fine; the other is basically in traction. "If we're splitting the group, we should send Morales. He's the sneakiest and the most mobile. But…" He trails off, looking uncomfortable. "If some of us stay behind, there's a good chance at least one of us breaks. It's possible we should make it an all-or-nothing situation." He shrugs, the motion leading him to wince in pain. "That's your call to make, though."
*
"Son," Sousa looks directly at Cho, "You're young. You're smart. You may have some of these special abilities that others in this room have. But if you, for one second, think that just because I or anyone else do -not- have those powers we're at a disadvantage, you are sorely, sorely mistaken. Never. And I mean -never- underestimate the Human Spirit. I don't care if someone has two legs, one leg, or three thousand." That said, he looks back to Sam.
"I'm not sending you up against that thing in your state, Wilson. But you make a good point. All or nothing." Although he's still willing to make the sacrifice. It's his job, in a way, to make sure that they all get out of there. "Let me see if the doctor has any aspirin in her bag. Maybe that'll help."
*
Amadeus looks to Sam, a brow raising in response to his words. "He knows what situations to not put himself in where he might be a threat to himself or others," he says. "I'm not saying he's not dangerous. It's complicated, alright?" Yeah, he does apparently get a little defensive when it comes to his friends. "Now's not the time to engage in the Banner debate, though." Pausing a moment, he stops in his pacing and then turns to Sousa. "Hey, I'm no…Thor or mutant or anything. I'm a human guy with a big brain. That isn't what I meant anyways. I was just saying that I can recall every last detail and might be able to get a rudimentary understanding of the technology they're using in there. See what we're up against."
*
"I'm just saying, next time someone has to give Banner bad news, I'm exempt," Sam says with a shrug. "And maybe whoever isn't should do it in a helicopter. Fly out over the Atlantic and push him out of if he gets squirrelly." He's half-joking, but only half. Still, he doesn't want to push Cho's buttons. They need to work as a team if they're going to have any chance of getting out of this situation.
Wilson nods at Sousa. "I think that's a good call, sir," he says. He's getting a little bit of that military formality back; maybe it's a good sign. "Makes it a little tougher but safer." He doesn't say it, but the sad practical calculus is that anyone they lose on the way out is also one less potential source of information for their captors.
*
Sousa roots around in Poindexter's backpack before pulling out a bottle of aspirin. It's brought back to Sam, "Two? More?" before he looks between the two. "Doctor Banner isn't here so what he could have done is moot." He glances about to see if there are any obvious, or even inobvious surveillance devices before lowering his voice, "We have some who can probably blast or punch their way out, but they'll catch on quick if it takes time. It's not like we can surreptitiously dig our way out with a spoon. We need to take stock of who can do what and figure out the best combination for success. That means we all have to work together."
*
Cho does laugh at Sam's joke, nodding his head along with it. Jokes in good fun are fine, apparently. "Yeah, I don't like being the bearer of bad news myself. I don't think every little thing ticks him off anymore. Not everything. Not sure it ever did." Still pacing, he replaces the sucker and puts his mind back to work on all of the angles here. He looks over to Sousa once again then. "Good plan, sir," he echoes Sam, trying to be all proper military. He isn't, but he's picking some things up as he goes. "We might just be able to get a visual on what we're dealing with."
*
"I'm not much use like this, but I should be mobile soon," Sam tells Sousa, trying to sit up again. It's not an effective attempt, and he settles back down after a second, amending, "Eventually." After a breath, he gestures over to the corner, indicating the dented wall and the wing armature Poindexter removed him from. "The suit is good for spare parts, at least. Sharp pieces of metal; hydraulic pistons; some kind of isotope in a containment chamber." He says this as nonchalantly as he can. "See anything useful in there, Cho? It's yours for the taking."
*
Sousa is going to make Sam take the painkillers, "Don't make me shove these down your throat, Wilson. And I know you'll be mobile soon, just don't push yourself. No need until we formulate a plan." He moves to sit on the other bunk, "Should have brought Stark's leg…could have probably mined something from that as well."
*
A look over at the suit and Amadeus is furrowing his brows. There are plenty of useful things in there, but he doesn't speak up just yet. "Before we go ripping things apart, we should figure out what everyone's capable like Agent Sousa said," he replies and rubs at the back of his neck idly. "It'd take a bit to put something effective together, so we're only going to get one shot at it that way. For now, we should get the protein into our bodies so that we maintain our strength. If you want, I can do a chemical analysis."
*
"Just keep it in mind," Wilson tells Cho. "I'm not even sure I'm going to be in good enough shape to carry the thing out of here. I'd rather you turn it into something useful than just hand it over to some weird… head… person."
The pilot grumbles something at Sousa that sounds very much like 'you're not my mom,' but it's possible he's just delirious. He reaches out a hand to accept the pills and pops them without water. After a second to let them hit his stomach, Wilson says, "Stark made you a leg, huh? Let me guess: nuclear powered?"
*
Sousa looks over to the suit, "Wouldn't we want to bring it with us so Stark can repair it?" He has his own issues with the man, but he'll admit that he knows what he's doing in some cases. "Intact, unless we need something from it?" The muttering gets a grin and a pat on whichever shoulder isn't injured as he moves along the perimeter of the large 'cell', as if looking for seams or hidden lenses or something.
"He did…and I hope not!" That's the last thing he needs - exposing his family to radiation!
*
"Might be able to do," Amadeus answers Sam, though he still gives it a long moment's consideration. There is still a discerning look or two cast to the flight suit. "Whatever we do, we're going to have to be a step ahead of our hosts if we're going to get out of here. I'll monitor the guard patterns as soon as I figure out how to see /outside/." That said, he pauses before continuing on. "I'm wondering if it might not be worth making a few tweaks as well. Improve the safety parts a little bit."
*
Wilson's eyes pop open. "Jesus — please," he says to Cho, turning and craning his neck to look at the wings rig without disturbing any of his immobilized injuries. "Howard's a genius at getting the thing working but… he can sometimes skip over mundane concerns like safety features." And whether or not the drive system emits enough radiation to render its operator sterile by the age of 25.
"I'd like to bring it with us, yeah," Sam answers Sousa, lying back down. "But like I said, I don't know whether I'll be able to. We can rebuild it if we have to, but at the end of the day, it's just a tool. Tools are what you use them for. I'll give it up in a heartbeat, if that will improve our chances of getting out of here."
As for the nuclear-powered leg? "You might want to get one of the lab boys check that out," Wilson suggests gently. "Just in case." Sousa isn't going to have a lot of luck; he doesn't recognize any obvious observation devices, but there are various doodads and recessed bits of metal that he simply can't identify.
*
Bobby wanders over to where the small group is talking. "Well, all in all, I give it a one star rating. Housekeeping sucks, no one answers when you call room service and I don't want to know where the bedding has been. On the bright side, we can get out of here whenever we want. So the question is, what do we do after that? Big Head is obviously a powerful psychic."
*
Sousa lets Wilson and Cho discuss the flight suit as he continues to move around, poking some at the metal bits and doodads. "Cho…over here…see what you can make of these things?" Since he seems much more tech savvy than the Senior Agent. Limping his way back towards Wilson, he nods his agreement, "Not a bad idea. I didn't know Howard was going into Nuclear energy now…although it doesn't surprise me." However, he's wearing his 'old' prosthetic, so maybe he had a hunch…or it's just more comfortable and familiar.
When Bobby approaches, he turns his head quickly, "You seem to think we can get out whenever we want? Do tell." His expression changes as their captor is mentioned to be a psychic. "Great. How do you stop a psychic?" He's obviously not very fond of them.
*
Wilson, prone on his bunk, raises one eyebrow as Iceman enters the conversation. "We can get out of this room whenever we want," he corrects the mutant. "When someone offers me a really easy way to get something they shouldn't want me to have, I get suspicious. We have absolutely no idea what's on the other side of any of the walls."
*
"Well, Havok can just blast a hole in the wall though that's a little obvious." Bobby answers. "Or I can make part of the wall or door or even just the lock brittle enough they'll shatter with enough force. I guess Big Head didn't actually see any of us using powers. He must have assumed we had weapons. As to how to stop him, like with anyone else: overwhelming force or taking him by surprise. I'd guess the second option has a better chance of working. Also, we should probably target the chair early on." Sam gets a nod.
*
Sousa just watches Bobby for a moment as he considers what the other says. "And you know all of this, how? How do you know that he didn't see what we did in our assault? We never took out the comms as we were supposed to," Not that he saw, anyhow. "What makes you think they're not watching and listening now? Do you think this head is that arrogant that it would just drop us in here and then ignore us?" It could be the case, but he's not going to assume.
"We need to get those warheads. We are woefully outnumbered. We have people who are injured. We need to get out, first and foremost because being captured isn't going to help anyone. If we -can-, we need to get those warheads back or, at the very least, render them inert and unusable. That may not happen on this mission."
*
"Chair? What chair?" Sam asks, wrinkling his nose. He was pretty out of it — if not out cold — when the rest of the team was dealing with MODOK. Probably a blessing, really. He missed the lecture. "I honestly have no idea what this 'head' is like or what he wants. Maybe he wants to see our powers in action; maybe he just wants us to attempt an escape so he'll know who the ringleaders are." He shrugs and concludes, "I just don't trust anything that looks too good to be true."
He takes a long breath, then says, "I do remember seeing an airship — but this room's too big to be on it. The warheads might have been aboard. We might have been taken somewhere totally different. We just don't know yet."
*
"I'd be watching and listening." Bobby agrees. "But we need to talk and since none of us are telepaths able to link us together, this is the only way to do it. What other option is there? Just sit around and do nothing?" he asks and shrugs. "You're the ones in SHIELD. You didn't have anything on him or this group in the yellow beekeeper suits?"
*
Sousa gets to his feet and crosses his arms at his chest as he narrows his eyes at Bobby, "First of all, we need to see if we're being watched and/or listened to. If we are, then we need to figure out a way to discuss with each other so they don't know our plans. There -are- options, kid, and you need to can it with the superior attitude." He's not about to back down. "You're the ones with the friend who's a telepath. Did -you- have intel on this giant head or the guys in the suits? I get that you were invited onto the new team, but you need to realize that it is under SHIELD's jurisdiction. You don't like it, you take that up with Captain Rogers or Agent Fury. But for now? I suggest you work -with- us instead of trying to prove your superiority and disparage the organization that's trying to save everyone's asses. Compreendo?"
*
Wilson's expression mirrors Sousa's annoyance, but the department chief seems to be doing just fine without his backup. He can play good cop, for once. "Listen, we can argue about who should have done what, or we can worry about getting out of here first and then bicker to our hearts' content."
He lets that hang for a second, then continues, "As for secrecy when you're being bugged, just keep it vague. Instead of saying, 'I'll make the door brittle,' just say, 'I can take care of the door.' Then we work through what we know about the guards — who can take them out? Then their weapons — who can take a hit? We assign jobs without discussing our specific capabilities." He looks back and forth between the other two. "That okay with everyone?"
*
"You always so defensive?" Bobby asks Sousa, head cocked slightly to one side. "You're the secret agent with the international spy agency collecting info on everything. Pardon me for thinking you might have known something. Some things didn't make it into the pre mission briefing." Like being expected to jump out of a plane, thank you Sam. Who gets a shrug. "Sure, we can do that. But it still doesn't answer the question of what do we do once we get out of here."
*
"When my people and my agency is attacked? You bet I am," Sousa offers before he releases some of the tension. "This is why we're here. To get more information and, we hoped, retrieve those warheads. Unlike others, we can't just pluck the information from people's heads." There's a quick glance to Sam and he gives a brief nod, "That's something we need to discuss. If we can get out with what we came for, party intact, that's the overall plan. If not, then we have more information and we go back and prepare for a return." With as many heavy hitters as they may deem possible…or even more stealth. Or both.
*
"No offense, Iceman, but this isn't a knitting circle," Wilson says, doing his best to sound equitable about it. Some of his military machismo leaks through anyway. "Kind of embarrassing for you guys to be the ones complaining the hardest about having to do something dangerous. All you had to do was ask for a ride."
Turning his head to look at Sousa, he says, "I'm not going to be much use except as someone to bounce ideas off of, but you're right: the mission parameters haven't changed. We just have to start from a disadvantage, now. And there's always the possibility of outside assistance."
*
"This isn't a game and you don't spring surprises on everyone. I'd have thought so called professionals would know that." Bobby tells Sam coolly then looks over at Sousa. "So, it sounds like you're saying we improvise. Break out - however it happens using whatever abilities we might or might not have - and then see what the situation is. We can do that."
*
"Welcome to the world of being an Agent, son. You don't like it, you can always resign," Sousa points out. While he wasn't thrilled about the leaping from the aircraft down either, he's gotten over it. Until they're back and he can properly chastize Wilson for it, that is. Souse gives a sigh, "There will be some amount of improvisation required, but there also needs to be a greater amount of teamwork. Think you can manage that? It would be helpful to know what folks can do, but given the circumstances…" they might not want to be divulging a lot. Besides, he still has working eyes and he saw what they did in the first assault.
*
"Iceman, we were in a cargo plane. We needed to get down to a factory as quickly and as stealthily as we could, and about half of our team had flight or similar capabilities," Wilson says with dry amusement. In spite of his injuries and their situation, he's managing a thin smile. "My sincere apologies for assuming you could either connect the dots or cope with the unexpected. It'll never happen again."
Wilson's eyes flick over to Sousa. "I'm not much of a team asset at the moment, but anything you need from me, I'm good for. But like I said, we have no idea what's outside this room. We could be on a ship, in a bunker, or under an ice cap." He shrugs, wincing again as he forgets that the gesture is painful in his condition. "All we have to work with past that door is improvisation."
*
"Yes." Bobby agrees. He's certainly going to give it some thought to staying once this is over. "I think I can manage to work with a team." he answers dryly. "Assuming the so-called professionals can manage to do so." Looking around their prison, he adds "Any time you want to talk freely, I can…" Pausing, he runs a hand over his hair as he tries to think of what to say. Then he shrugs. "Encase everything so they can't see and probably not hear."
*
"That is -enough-," Sousa demands. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, but it ends. Now." It's so ordered and he expects that order to be followed. Moving on. He lowers his voice some, "Encasing everything in ice isn't a bad idea, but we might want to save it until we're about ready to execute our plan. They'll know that something's up when that happens."
*
"One demerit from Team X for insulting teammates. One demerit from Team S for the use of specifics," Wilson rules, presiding over the conversation from his improvised sickbed like an Olympic judge. "Both scores remain in the negative, to the general embarrassment of all; Team Giant Floating Head maintains a healthy lead." He pauses and sighs. "Maybe I should slip back into unconsciousness, and you can wake me up when we've either worked it out or are segregated on opposite sides of the cell. That always works so well."
*
Bobby votes for unconscious. He might not come out and say so but the look isn't hard to interpret. "Not if we do it regularly." he points out to Sousa. "They won't know which is the important time. Though if they are watching and listening, it's likely to make them act. Assuming they're not just collecting information of their own. I would like to get out of here before Big Head gets back though. Seems like it would be a really good idea to not be here when he does."
*
Sousa slides a glance at Wilson but there's a twitch of a smile at his lips. Indeed. They shouldn't be bickering over this and he's going to let it go. For now. Sometimes it's hard being the grown-up. "On that, we agree. We want to get out as soon as possible," even if it means strapping Wilson to someone's back to be carried, piggy-back, out.
There's another glance about the cell before he limps back over to Poindexter's backpack to dig around some more. Paper. They need something to write on. That's always harder to see on camera.
*
"Way to show a willing attitude," Sam says to Iceman with a smile that actually is hard to interpret. "Using false alarms to lull them isn't a bad idea. But it does give them an opportunity to come up with countermeasures or workarounds. I say it's your call whether that's worth it. As for escape, I do think that any interrogations might be an opportunity to learn more. If they're confident we can't escape, they might let something slip. But that's more the Chief's department." He pauses and tilts his head back. "I don't really have a department. Maybe I can be in charge of coming up with codenames for everything."
*
"From the sound of it, Big Head is the one who's going to be doing the interrogating." Bobby points out. "I don't know that he's telepathic but seeing as how he's definitely a psychic of some sort, I'm not going to bet against it. I've had some training in how to resist that kind of thing but I'm not going to pretend it's going to do any good against someone strong enough."
*
Sousa pauses and looks up from the backpack, "It would be useful if you instructed the rest of us in that particular skill you have. Whether or not it's 'good enough', it'll be more than we have now. Unless it has something to do with your particular skills," and then the rest of them are kind of screwed. "This is why we need to share pertinent information." Granted, Bobby was probably not nearby when they were initially talking about dense against telepathy.
*
"He's got a point," Wilson says amenably. "I can't do much stuck in a bunk, but I can practice some kind of mental thing. Better than just napping the day away."
*
Bobby shakes his head. "Won't do any good. It wasn't that kind of training. It involved more than just talking about what to do. Though if you start mentally singing some really annoying song, the telepath might kill you instead."
*
Sousa flicks an 'Are you kidding me?' glance to Sam before he just takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He might even be silently counting to ten. It might be a good thing that he hasn't yet reloaded his gun…or maybe he hasn't reloaded just in case something like this happened. He then goes back to looking for a pen and paper.
*
"Too bad. My music taste is impeccable," Sam says, wearing a regretful expression. "I suppose I could make him start bobbing his head. Which is to say, bobbing all of him. I don't know how that would be useful, though. Maybe the giant head gets seasick."
If MODOK is listening in, he probably wants to kill Sam already. Then again, given what he said, MODOK wants to kill them all already, so it's sort of a lateral move.
"Is there anything I can be working on without moving around much, though?" the pilot asks. "I could concoct a cover story for the interrogations, maybe."
*
Bobby shakes his head and starts heading over to one of the bunks. "Won't do any good. A telepath doesn't need to answer questions. He just goes in and finds the answer on a level beyond what you're just thinking at the moment. He'll know the difference between something you really believe is the truth and what you invented to try to throw him off. Assuming he's any good. If he's not, go for it."
*
Sousa finds a small notebook and a pen and brings it over to Sam, "How are you at holding a pen and writing? We need to make a list of everything we know so far…everything that we saw. Weapons, suits, storage, that assembly line, the giant head." It's a start and it's busy work, but it's something for the other to do. "We'll all contribute, one by one, quietly, and then we can discuss from there."
*
"Since we have no idea whether he's a telepath or not or how good he is, I'll take potentially useless precautions over a definitely useless lack of precautions," Wilson tells Iceman. "No point being defeatist."
He bobs his chin at Sousa. "I can do that much, at least," he answers. "Can't promise great penmanship, but I did get a pretty good vantage point over the factory floor. Scouting is one of the things I'm trained to do."
*
"I just want to be gone before he gets here." Bobby states as he sits down. "He's way too powerful to take chances with." And that's based on only what they saw. Who knows what they didn't.
*
Sousa nods to Wilson and goes to sit back down on the lower bunk. They don't have much food or water and they're going to need to conserve energy as best as they can for the escape. "We're all going to need to work together to do our best to make that happen."
*
"That might well be," Wilson admits at Iceman's dire pronouncement. "I didn't see it for myself, but he sure seems to have put the fear of God into the rest of the team. I'll take your collective word for it."
Shifting uncomfortably to put pencil to pad, Wilson starts to sketch the layout of the Detroit factory from memory: the airship hatch, the assembly lines, the towers, the storage racks. His crack about penmanship aside, he's (perhaps surprisingly) an excellent draftsman; the elements of the floor plan are scaled well, the lines and curves confident and neat. It should constitute a useful intel report — if they manage to get out of here alive.