Owner	Pose
Jane Foster	Then... A video making the rounds on Koo, Tiktok, and Instagram hits SHIELD social media watchers. Six minutes for paradise to descend into anguish. Six minutes on the azure sea, long-line fishing boats arrayed before a tropical atoll. All it takes for a dark-skinned man wrapped in dirty, thick ropes to beg for his life in broken Tamil. His wide eyes dart back and forth. At 2:21, the telltale pop of gunfire marks the end of a chapter and his ignominous end hurled into the water. When the video resumes, the camera rests on another captive on the deck. He struggles ineffectively at the thick hemp, his solid black eyes rimmed in blue. Raucous, crowing laughter meets his attempts. The English subtitles on the video are crude, to the tune of, "Look at this freaky bycatch. Worse than the shit stowed in the hold. Look at it!" The man's crystalline fringe like an axolotl flares weakly up and down his neck. Someone kicks him and he twists away to defend himself, slumped on the deck. He cries out in Dhivevhi, the language of the Maldives, to volleys of slurs. "Let us go and you will have whatever you want." Water bubbles among the turquoise waves. "He will give you all you could dream of if you spare us!" Gunshots ring out. Blue blood seeps from the man's chest with every hole, engulfing the video in watery green light. The frame shudders, showing his bowed silhouette growing bigger and monstrous. In hindsight, it's no coincidence a SHIELD satellite registers the energy pulse erupting several hundred kilometers off the coast of the Indian subcontinent where absolutely no known activity. A pulse that matches a wave crashing into a Maldivian resort island, utterly ruining some rich person's birthday party.
Jane Foster	Now... Being connected to clandestine organizations has perks. Video released on social media has latitude and longitude. Clever triangulation from a constellation of listening posts and spy satellites provide a place, a time. For the right people, a biokinetic signature implies a metahuman source. One that involves upsetting a good deal of water. With no more than a six hour window since the whole business went down, it's easy to draw a maximum radius that damaged long-line trawlers could possibly travel. Five knots, wind whipping at their coats, not hard to track pirates cause they're on a boat. Six of them limp along in ragged formation, one barely above the water line, their spoils dragged behind them. Others are dented and battered beyond the usually sad appearance, slithering through the volcanic atolls huddled together against the sea. Occasional sparks or shots come from the decks where cowering stowaways are dragged out for questioning.
Daisy Johnson	The quinjet belonging to the Secret Warriors had been assembled shortly after those videos had become available. It was the perks of having an hacker on the team with a penchant for information gathering. It meant Daisy had set up filters for just these kind of situations! And now? The team that had been called in was all within the jet flying over the waters leading to where the occurrence had happened. "This will be a search and rescue." she is telling the team, "The radar had already picked up the ships and we are on an intercept route. Use non-lethal measures if you can, we need to figure out if they have prisoners and rescue them. As for motives? All we have so far is that they are pirates.." she tells the group. "Everyone test comms and gear up. We will be on them in 5." serious tone to the more usually loose Daisy. But this was her mission to lead. She wasn't going to let it fail.
Alexander Aaron	In the jet and having settled upon one of the rumble seats, an agent in the basic helmeted tactical garb of SHIELD had waited for the high sign from Agent Johnson. When the call comes up to bring comms up and gear on line he rose from the seat and opened one of the storage compartments. ICER is taken and checked, the weapon's housing activated and then slipped into the holster at the small of his back. The light SMG is tucked under one arm on a swing grip connected to his shoulder. The last piece was the helmet with the visor which he spent a moment looking at his reflection...     Blond hair, pale hazel eyes, a curiously distant look. Then sidelong over his shoulder he says, "Agent Johnson, lots of tension ahead. About..." His brow furrows, then he pulls the helmet in place, the visor hiding his features and the helmet altering his voice slightly with an electronic modulation. "40 people on that sinking trawler."     Turning he moves toward the deployment ramp in the back of the ship then clicks in on the ready line, the light for one operative ready likely illuminates there and for the pilot.
Jemma Simmons	Gear up for Jemma includes some items that are not necessarily SHIELD standard issue. One such item is the portable lab that she initially developed. This version seems more up to date...perhaps due to a certain engineer's assistance. It certainly looks more streamlined and more advanced. And the wrist computer that links to the system is more powerful, again thanks perhaps to that not-so-mysterious engineer. However, the jumpsuit that Jemma wears now, black with green accents, that is all her. The fabric woven to be light, yet strong. With it and her other tech, Jemma really does look like she is a superhero. She hardly feels it, though. "In studying the video, coupled with satellite imagery and known geological features, the surge that occurred was not natural. There is no tectonic activity in the area. I would wager that this is due to a superpowered individual or individuals."
Jessica Drew	In the jet, strapped into her seat Jessica grins, muttering under her breath to her seat mate "Got your snorkel gear with you?" At the urgent summons, Jess grabbed her go-kit with a standard tac suit, modified for her needs, toeless booties for clinging and fingerless gloves cut to allow her to throw webs. ICER ammo calibrated for use in the P-90 that accompanies her on most missions is tucked into a bag at her feet. The belt around her waist has a state-of the-art breather attached to it. A last minute thought added fins to the bag. Head leaned back against the bulkhead, she has kept her eyes closed during the last hour of their final approach. A sudden flare of imminent threat opens her eyes, <Check com complete. Daisy, this is not feeling right. This is a high threat situation we are rolling into. "
Leopold Fitz	The Quin is set up a touch differently; differently enough that Fitz isn't completely familiar with its nuances. The mission, however, is one that the engineer may be of some use, and it's a renewed reminder that he is also a Field Agent. (Something he is always reminding his superiors when briefings happen, and left out of the front line action.) Well, here he is, strapped in, his backpack strapped in beside him. He's wearing his black field gear; jacket, cargos and boots. He doesn't have a problem with Daisy running the show; he's known her long enough to understand her methods, and their working relationship is such that he's comfortable. "I thought pirates were outdated," Fitz offers up with that soft Scottish burr, "An' then the last few years happened." Pirate activity is growing in areas as terrorist activity churns. Money and guns are usually the booty, and sadly, the images of crews being executed is all too common. Except for that last one. And then the marine activity.
Jane Foster	The Quinjet doesn't generate a lot of noise and the trawler crews don't expect anyone to jump out from the sky. Damaged engines and steering apparatuses force the engineers to focus wholly on moving forward. A captain on the most mobile ship barks orders, and two pirates carrying submachine guns shoot the terrified captives without preamble. Another poor soul shoved out from the hold staggers into the light, his skin weirdly blue-black in the light. He bleeds red onto the deck from wounds around his wrists and ankles, hobbling to toss one of the bodies into the water. Aging rusty boats stealing millions of dollars of fish don't exactly invest in top of the line electronics. They don't shift course or take shots overhead. For the moment, the Secret Warriors have the advantage, but that's not to last. The slow-moving craft cut for the island a few miles off. Said island floats like a green jewel, a forested cap over sloping, great white dunes. Engines gurgle, hulls rattling. The biggest trawler, falling behind, slips lower into the water. Waves wash over her grey deck, and one of the pirates slogs up to a dinghy. Gestures don't need translation; they're abandoning it.
Daisy Johnson	"It's not a typical kind of situation.." Daisy tells the others with a sharp nod when they give their input on what they are getting into. ".. it's why we were called." a brow furrows though. "But right now there is a lot we still don't know..." "Poppins, Haggis, Stargazer. We are going to need a recon of the area. Figure out what's going on, where the captives are. If there are any left. Something about this whole situation feels off.." "Spiderwoman, Phobos. I want you dropping in and handle the hostiles. Phobos. Take the damaged trawler, Spiderwoman on the east side ones. I will take the west side." She clicks the button on the side that opens the deployment ramp so they can jump, fly or just simply drop in with the use of tech. 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... The ramp drops down and the ships under get in sight. "Go!"
Alexander Aaron	"Lotsa pirates," Alexander says, voice sub-vocalized so it doesn't key onto the comms frequency. No need to spam those channels. But Fitz's words do cause his thoughts to wander. "Gulf of Mexico strangely enough. Cape Horn." But then his voice trails off as the visor hides his facial expressions. Though that tone of voice one can imagine he's letting his mind wander down that path as the Quinjet rushes toward its objective.     But then Daisy is giving her rundown, orders given out with that quick command tone and it's something the young Olympian responds to, instantly snapping focus into the here and now and nodding as he brings the ICER up and ready. The count comes quick as the engines of the Quinjet flare, the deployment ramp opening.     Suddenly there's the tableau of the world below, the ocean, the ships. And targets.     Out the door and dropping onto that damaged trawler, Agent Aaron lands with a low whumpf, instantly gauging surroundings and if needs be engaging targets right off the bat with the non-lethal weapon.
Jane Foster	Stargazer -- one Jane Foster -- falls into the nebulous role of consultant. Scientific expertise might not be especially helpful on the high seas, but she is another pair of willing hands to save lives. Mini SCUBA gear is so not in her wheelhouse right now, and the look she trains hard on the projected map intends to ignore the fact sooner or later, she's going to swim. Comm links come alive with six taps of a button because Jane. Tech doesn't like her. "Not to put a damper on the party, but we're outside Indian jurisdiction." Because they need a reminder of that. "Law of the sea. Our targets probably aren't going to talk." She forces herself flat to a chair, disregarding the intense itch in her shoulder blades. At least a cursory side scan using the Quinjet's sensory arrays will be necessary before getting numbers. "Let me take IR, if you want. At least pirates don't typically have a corvus or an EMP weapon." Always look on the bright side of life!
Jessica Drew	After a thumbs up to Phobos, Jess unclips her seatbelt, pulls down the goggles that she had pushed up on her head earlier, then, settles the bag with gun and ammo over her shoulders. Counting down to herself, she heads to the ramp. Below, there is nothing but ocean darkening quickly as the sun drops. She has a quick glimpse of water burning brightly in the last rays of sun on the horizon. With a gesture, she twacks a web to the end of the ramp and jumps unto the last trawler in the group. She lands lightly, the churn of the engine swallowing her footsteps. Head on a swivel, she checks her perimeter and moves toward the bow.
Jemma Simmons	Jemma shakes her head. She was never fond of that callsign that Daisy and Bobbi saddled her with. Just because she is British doesn't mean she is a magical nanny with a bottomless tote bag. But....try saying that to Daisy. No. It is no sense fighting it now. And when Fitz gets his own nickname, there might be a glance over towards him. The expression may also be somewhat sympathetic. After all, Jemma doubts Leo really wants to be named in such a possible derogatory manner. The glance shifts...as Jemma takes note of what she is wearing...and immediately a bit of red colours her cheeks. Oh, yes. First time Leo probably saw this particular ensemble. And...for some reason, Jemma is a little self conscious now. Funny. The biochemist shakes her head, clearing her thoughts as she lifts up her wrist to connect to the Quin...and to the spy satellite network. "Pulling up infra-red to detect heat signatures and transferring the visuals to the Quinjet monitors." Because Jemma can do that. "Though, when we do find the captives, it would be best if I was along. Some may need medical attention." Besides...there is a metahuman down there that is certainly going to need help. That goes without saying.
Leopold Fitz	Jemma's outfit certainly did get a glance; the form-fitting fabric seemingly woven to her specifications. Fitz' eyes glance over, back to 'eyes front', and back again only to meet Jemma's glance, and away again. To his credit, he's not only considering the fit, but also the potential tensile strength of the weave. He wants her safe! As Daisy's words come back around, and the fact that 'non lethal' has to actually be mentioned, it gives a fair idea of the difficulty of restraint. Leo doesn't like to kill, truthfully; taking a life is something unnatural, even now. Thus, the ICERs, and the 'night night gun'. "Wait... wait..." he's not protesting any jumps, rather, "What did ye call me?" Does that lilt sound a little thicker? His tones settle into more of a mumble, "Recon's child's play." He's got his Dwarfs, at the very least. At the most? They're also set up for mobile sound surveillance. He's even got a cloaking on a couple of them, set their propellers so they don't *whrrrrrr* quite so loudly (which is to say 'very, very softly'). When the Quin finds it's 'hover', Fitz expertly removes his traces and slings his backpack from beside him to the ground. In the next second, experienced hands open the sack and pulls out his dearest creations. A quick glance is given to the open back where teammates have just jumped out of, and it only takes him a few more heartbeats before he sets a pair of goggles onto his face, and opens the case to reveal his small drones. One after another rises from their own stays, and *whrrrrrs* from the back of the jet, onto their appointed tasks. "An' they're away."
Jane Foster	The IR relayed through Quinjet and DWARFs pops up heat signatures. More than thirty on the sinking ship. Eight belowdeck on Jessica's two targets and ten below on Daisy's. Well, nine. Someone's about to be shot. Cameras capture significant damage; bashed hull plating and a gash below the waterline on the ship Jessica doesn't occupy. Watery 'burn' marks on both Daisy's targets show they're doomed to a slow death. A stealthy approach serves well. Quake and Spiderwoman rappel onto a trawler with none the wiser. Jessica can feel irregular vibrations underfoot of a damaged engine, labouring against the demands from the bridge. The battered ship heaves forward, a gored bull blundering past the waves. Frantic thumps reach her sharpened senses, the clamour of small objects beating rusty walls from deep inside. Stifled cries muffled under the squealing pistons and thick, oily stench of rotting fish thrum, ten voices, in multiple languages: Hindi, Tamil, Tagalog, Malay. The smaller trawler that Daisy takes is a bloodbath, broken planks stained blue-black and red with fresh blood. Two pirates train guns on the shuffling captive after he tossed a body overboard. "<<Bring up the next! He'll talk!>>" A pirate jerks his gun to the rusty round hatch, and she has the perfect timing to watch the poor man stumble to reluctantly haul someone out. This close, she can see the small stubs of frills on his neck, sliced away and openly bleeding. A skinny, weakly kicking captive is shoved out, dirty ligatures wrapped around his wrists and throat. "I don't know anything! I don't know how he did it!" Then there's Phobos, who singlehandedly lands on the deck and exchanges a brisk conversation with pirates focused on escaping on an inflatable dinghy. His little chat causes two pirates to abruptly drop by ICER. Another chatters too fast, his gun shaking in his hands. "It was the monster! He called up the waves, he hit the boat!" Two retreat back from the waves as the trawler sinks by the bow, taking cover to avoid the disarming young man.
Daisy Johnson	Darn it! They are on a top priority mission that needs all of Daisy's focus. Which means she doesn't get to witness the looks between Fitzsimmons. What she -does- get to do is to get one of those fancy tactical visors on that gets the input on the infra-reds from Jemma. It's good to be in SHIELD. Best tech money can buy.. And best minds to research it too! "You have your targets. Let's go." She jumps right after Spiderwoman and Phobos do it, letting herself fall right until she is reaaaal close to that trawler she is dropping towards. And then those vibrations announce her arrival, softening her drop and turning it into a .... SUPERHERO LANDING! (with a hair flip) Right down to the point in which she drops with one knee on the ground. Someone shoots her way but the bullets find the resistance of a vibrational shield brushing the shots away. Neo much? And then the shooter gets thrown back against the deck with a concussive blast. Non-lethal surely, but doesn't mean it won't hurt. "Automatic guns so far. I have got prisoners here." she follows it up by disarming the other pirate with some quick exchange of blows she learned out of May. With the pirate unconscious she calls out. "Need medical assistance down here. West boats."
Alexander Aaron	No word on the comms from Agent Aaron at first. Those are reserved for the pirates in that quick conversation.     "Hello," He says loud enough to carry. Which is when their discussion truly begins.     On the bow of the ship his ICER comes up and there's the short sharp snap of the weapon firing, one of the pirates that had been turning his direction only having time enough to see his reflection in the dark figure's helmet. A group of five total all trying to push off the life raft as they seek to get clear of the sinking ship only to be set upon from above.     Though four now remaining conscious. Weapons come up as another spins, working the slide of his assault rifle only to catch a second shot from the ICER even as Agent Aaron moves quickly to the side, taking cover behind the old rusted gantry.     "Two down," Is heard on the comms as Alexander checks the weapon in his hand, only for a third pirate to suddenly surge to the side, bringing his weapon up to try and get a clean shot at the young Olympian.     It's just a moment as the man draws bead that he'll see the suddenly silvery flame glowing behind the invader's mask. A flame that to his mind's eye slashes reality in twain, creating a black and red horizon tangled with horrific tentacles as monstrosities suddenly surge to life in the ocean and in his hand, that weapon he's holding twisting around to snap and bite and hiss with green venom dripping from lamprey-like fangs, clearly intent on stealing the pirate's life.     "Three. They're mentioning a monster called upon the waves and hit the ship."     That break in the conflict is taken. He takes a breath, then rolls out of cover bringing the weapon up to aim at the last two pirates.
Jessica Drew	Hunkered behind a tub full of trawl nets, Jess listens to the frantic beat of fists against the plating under her feet. IR confirms what she can hear. When she stands the boat lists to starboard and the tattoo of fists quickens as the boat wallows, pulling the boat along side it inward close enough it would be an easy jump to it. She can just make out voices. Gun snugged against her shoulder, the agent walks toward the bow, catching two pirates pitching cards into a hat. They both look up at once, then take their turn slumping to the deck. She rounds the corner of the wheel house, takes a step back and shoots the man at the wheel. His head disappears, followed by the quick thumping of steps down metal stairs. The grizzled man wields a gun which he brings up a second too late. The deck lists more to starboard. A shout brings the clatter of feet. Keeping station next to the wheelhouse, she picks off the first one. <
Jane Foster	"Clear in the water ahead of the ships. Avoid getting in the water behind the main fleet. High possibility of entanglement from any untethered lines or ropes," Jane warns from the Quinjet. She has no intention of abandoning flying ship yet because someone needs to be eyes in the sky, and catching knowing looks of Fitzsimmons. The screen displays a blip that requires further investigation. "Fitz, can you confirm relative water height? Displacement measurements seem off, local to west group." That is, where Daisy triumphantly declares need for medical aid from Poppins. <<Spider-Woman, watch your head in case it gets rough. We're refining our data, stand by.>> She switches over to comms, jamming her palm down on the illuminated panel. It more or less defies her, regardless of the warmth of her skin. Nyah nyah, disembodied soul girl.
Jemma Simmons	As Fitz deploys the Dwarfs, Jemma takes a moment to link up to their network. Not to take them over! She would never do that to Leo, as she knows he is the best to control them. Instead, she settles herself in as an observer, using the sensors to monitor the situation. And...in particular, the poor individual that seems to be under threat of the obvious pirates. "Intriguing. External gills. Our poor fellow is amphibious, I would wager." Oh, but then the call comes in for medical assistance. Jemma straightens up as Daisy makes the call, her voice cutting into the comms briefly with three words. "On my way." Which, for Jemma, contrary to popular opinion, does *not* involve her jumping out of a perfectly serviceable aircraft with nothing but an umbrella to slow her fall. No. This time, it is the rappelling wire that facilitates her descent. A quick fastening of the harness, then a quick aside to Fitz. "You be careful now." Leo should be careful? Jemma is the one about to slide down a wire! A quick check to ensure she has her accruements (ICER, portalab, backpack and wrist computer) and Jemma steps out into the void....sliding down to join Daisy on the west side.
Leopold Fitz	Fitz has his eyes and ears in the air, as it were, and with each boot on the ground, he's offering brief control of them. "Switching control of Sleepy, Bashful and Sneezy over," comes through the coms. "Don't you dare get them hurt, though." Does that sound warning enough from the Scotsman? Hopefully. Fitz still has control over the five others (yes, there are 8, not 7!), and as the readings start coming in, scrolling across his goggles, he lets out a soft groan before calling a warning. "Aye, there's a great deal of activity below. Bubbles. Too many an' too large. They'll swamp the boats." Catching Daisy's request for medical aid, the be-goggled Fitz turns quickly towards Jemma, his expression most certainly concerned. "Jemma," he begins softly, but whatever else it is that he's about to say doesn't quite make it. Instead, he changes tack, and does what he can offer to help keep her safe. "Take Doc an' Dopey." The pair of them are fitted with small burst weapon, very much like Stark's repulsors. Whoever gets hit will certainly get a shock they'll remember.
Jane Foster	Fitz's children catch the hyperoxygenated traces rising from the deep. No blue whale seeks fresh oxygen after chasing a vast school of krill. The air grows pungent, laced with brine, rot, and salt. Engines sputter as turbines spin, struggling to push the labouring ships forward. The disturbance boils under Daisy's ship all the way to the east-side ship that Jessica has targeted, but isn't on. Bubbles pop when they hit the surface, like a cauldron or a kettle released cold steam. Buoyancy very much becomes a problem for Poppins hitting the deck and Daisy already securing the area. The remaining two crew members keeping the ship moving at all slam the engine to full and make a run out the back. Doc and Dopey might sting them for daring. Those below-decks are frantic to those who hear and sense their fists beating, their voices crying out. Water sloshes around down there, and the decreasing stability of the sea heaves the trawlers into the bubble-zone. Alexander has the ill fortune of slogging through Poseidon's domain, as the sinking trawler's lights flash and go out. The engines are failing, on their last legs. Thirty lives hang in the balance. Jessica runs on borrowed time, and a volley of shots from the remaining defenders. Their island is ahead, the distance measured still in miles. One will risk swimming in a life jacket rather than facing her.
Alexander Aaron	The last two tangos are put down quickly, one taking an icer shot straight on and collapsing, the other getting caught in mid-leap and nearly going straight over the side...     Only for his grubby torn boot to be grabbed at the last moment as Phobos grimaces a little at the smelliness of the situation. On the comms he says, "Got the five on the sinking trawler..." Though now he's moving from each to each, quick zip-ties to secure making sure they're not likely to slip over the edge. Though if the ship goes down...     "Moving to the bridge," Which has him breaking into a run from the fallen combatants as he rushes to the back of the ship and takes the stairs two at a time, spinning around and through the door into the control bridge proper. His camera feed kicks on as he sends what he's seeing back to the ship.     "I'm seeing a lot of red lights. Might need one of the healthy vessels to secure near so we can offload the non-combatants." Though he does linger just in case one of the big brains will be able to magically point out to him a 'Please Don't Sink' button. So far he can't find it.
Jessica Drew	Concentrating on the approaching thumps of feet thrumming through the decking, Jess catches snatches of body counts and approaching weather over coms. Approaching weather? She casts a glance upward and sees a star, no sign of clouds. Gunfire pinging off the rusty metal of the wheelhouse brings her back to earth. The shot was well calibrated; Jess decides to climb. Curls of rusting paint cling to her tactical suit as she clambers up the metal wall. Two men run by below her, she picks the second one off and then the first. They slumber sprawled on the decking. A shift in the wind wallops her hyper-sense of smell. Iodine, rotting fish, anaerobic mud, and half-digested krill blind sides her. Breathing through her mouth, she drops back back to the deck in search of the rest of the crew, casting glances over the side of the ship for the source of the smell. <I need a read on where the hatch is to below decks.>
Jemma Simmons	Despite of Fitz's request for Jemma to take two of the drones with her, he will see that she does not take control of the pair. The moment that her feet touch down on metal (sinking metal) Jemma shifts into gear, flipping into doctor mode. And, her first order of business? Reaching the obviously tortured individual with the unique physical features. Never mind the fact that Jemma probably doesn't speak his language, or that she has no idea if he will understand her. He's hurt...and that is all that matters at the moment. Jemma approaches calmly, her medical bedside skills on full display. "I am here to help. Will you let me?" Asking for permission...a good way to start. She presents her hands out, palms upwards, to show she means no harm. And she adds the magic words that, should her newfound patient understand her, should put her from weirdly clad foreign individual to avoid to weirdly clad foreign individual that may be trusted. "I am a doctor..."
Jane Foster	"Blowing open a hole in the side of that tin can won't help matters, but I can't help but wish it would. I'm going to get over Phobos for an evacuation, and you do you." Jane checks the Quinjet's altitude and stability, then cranes over the beading holographic pool of blips building in intensity across the deck. <<Poppins, Quake. You need to evacuate immediately. Move to the west ship.>> The open broadcast runs across the open comms links, relayed by the ship. She shifts out of the seat, abandoning her position for the copilot seat. The Quinjet won't fly itself and autopilot cannot manage what she needs, so she straps in first. May probably would squint at her grip on the yoke, but the brunette astrophysicist has enough remedial flight instruction to know how to move the bird without overshooting too far. That, of course, means dropping the cloaking. Nothing like a sci-fi ship dropping out of thin air, and black lines jettisoned out the back toward sea level above the trawler under the sea.
Leopold Fitz	Fitz is in what others would consider a 'dizzying' connection with his DWARFs. He has his tablet, and the goggles are sifting through all the data that is rising from there. The proffered drones aren't picked up, as it were, and so the engineer retakes control of all of them, setting them to their allotted tasks. The pair assigned to Jemma, has them stand guard, and there is a gentle *wrrrrr* that circles above; little sentries. "Red lights aren't good," Fitz responds slowly and deliberately. "An' we're still too far out. What, with the underswell, we have t'get at least one or two of them out of the area if they're not to founder." And sink. Jessica's question is answered quickly, as a drone *zzzzzzzngs* across and lights a green light above the hatch for her. It'll be her little friend. "Open the hatch, I'll send Sneezy down first. Watch his sensors." The shift of control of the Quin does send Fitz forward just a little, and he glances towards the front to see the changing. Brows rise, but he's no pilot. At all. "Careful.." is murmured. "Y'might want to make sure we have some protection." Guns are hot? Or at least warm? The fact that Daisy and Jemma are in a little more(?) imminent danger is not good news to Fitz' ears. Rising, still with tablet in hand and goggles on, he's getting ready to gear up for exiting the Quin should it be necessary. No.. should he FEEL that it's necessary.
Jessica Drew	The dwarf drones like a bee nosing a flower. Jess sets herself on its trail as it races ahead of her. Straight into the last ones (she hopes) on the ship - their heads upturned foolishly shooting at the drone. The dwarves swerve, rising quickly and the men's attention on the machine gives her ample time to shoulder her gun and put them to sleep for the duration. The unlocked hatch is a stroke of luck and she flings the hatch open to let Sneezy hound dog ahead of her. She jumps to the bottom of the first ladder, water sloshing above her ankles.
Alexander Aaron	The ICER is tucked back into its holster as Alexander casts another glance over the controls. The camera feed from his helmet lingers over the display of equipment and half of the settings seem to be either out of order or giving erroneous information. Not exactly helpful in the moment. On the comms he says, "Going to try and get people out of the hold."     Then the camera feed shunts away from the bridge in the direction of the greatest feeling of fear he can sense, back out onto the deck as he /sliiiides/ down the stair railing and lands with a whumpf. The ever growing presence of water is definitely a bad thing and as he rushes to the large doors to the hold in the rear deck. His voice is perhaps heard though not meant for the comms, for the tone is quieter though it might be picked up.     "Dear uncle, forgive me for I have made you no offering despite my travels bringing me here to your demesne." He tears around the bridge castle and as he runs silvery flame washes over his right hand giving life to a long crimson blade that settles into his hand. "I can sense your ire and I beg your patience. Do not punish these people because of my lack of wisdom. I will make due sacrifice as soon as I can. Thank you, uncle."     A small prayer, and a rare one uttered, then the blade comes up and then down once, slicing at steel and rust as he seeks to slash the doors open.
Jane Foster	"We can fire the ARMOR engineer who designed the hull to be vulnerable to machine gun fire," Jane opines. Firing said engineer relies on them not suffering death by pirate. Machine guns rattle in short bursts, but the remaining crews care more about survival than taking out the Secret Warriors. Ship Daisy-1, to the west, pushes on to the island while Ship Jessica-2, the one she is not on, bucks and heaves against the rapidly diminishing buoyancy. The sea should hold up a ship, but escaping gasses doom the trawler. The poor man Jemma scoops up is in a bad way, though the bullet holes across his chest aren't quite so heinous as a human would have. He's nearly spent, hardly able to hold his head up, black eyes rolled back half the time. In Dhivehi, he mumbles, "Help them... give... heart's..." Shock is a terrible spectre on him. She has a ways to go to get him /off/ the boat, though Daisy's ability to rip open decks indiscriminately by shaking boards and metal frames free reveals the survivors lashed together and bloody-skinned. Two have the same cast of skin and features, though no weird gills or eyes, as the poor half-conscious metahuman. Jessica has a lead from the DWARF showing her the way into the waterlogged hold where men cling to the pipes and pray to what gods might listen. Allah, Brahma, the Great Sea-Slumberer must heed some prayer when the woman appears. They, unlike the other ships, aren't tethered except by their torn shirts. Leading them out will be difficult as the ship lists and struggles, but even weak migrant workers breathing fresh air find some strength. It's another story for the men committed to the deep under an Olympian's watch. Their prayers seem doomed until a brutally sharp sword parts rusted steel and salt-sodden seals, tearing open the SRI-PAA5 open like a tin can. Foetid air boils out, water trickling through. Thirty souls to wrest free, gasping men sliding down the deck and grasping whatever they can find. Brutal work, if honest, but fortunately some Spider-Woman has a functional tub they can limp to land on.
Jemma Simmons	While Daisy makes retrieving the other survivors rather easy, what with the direct peeling back of layers like an onion, Jemma herself seems to be working up a plan. Even as she places her hands on the injured metahuman, her eyes are scanning the doomed vessel she is on for anything of use. And....she spies the solitary lifeboat on the ship. Not very safe in terms of standard regulations...but, considering the former owners of the sinking ship before the deep claims it, still surprising that there is even that. And, with the singular life raft available, that plan starts to formulate. First...get her patient to that smaller craft. She walks over with him to the lifeboat, her hands upon him to help him along. And...it seems that it maybe is actually helping him...for there seems to be a bit of new vigor that comes to the individual. Certainly not to the point where he is skipping about...but certainly enough that it appears he is able to move under his own power...with those gunshot wounds seemingly just a little less severe than they might have first appeared. Jemma indicates for the man to get in the boat. "You stay here. My friend and I will get the others and get away from here." And...pausing only long enough to make sure there is understanding, Jemma turns to go after the other survivors. She seems a little slower, a little more cautious...but still in a determined manner. She is not about to leave any of the captured behind if she can help it. And Daisy, seeing that look of determination on Jemma's features, knows to not question it either. Instead, seeing how Jemma is ushering to some semblance of safety, she joins in...helping those other captives out and to the life craft. If Jemma is doing it, then it is good enough for Daisy as well. At least, that is what it seems to be. With the survivors soon to be loaded, the smaller proportions of the lifeboat should prevent complete sinking long enough to get out of the bubble zone. Especially if Daisy lends a little propulsion to the equation, which of course Jemma suggests.
Leopold Fitz	Fitz is on his feet, pacing and watching from relative safety. It's not right, and he's not happy, but there isn't work for him down. The ships that are still vaguely seaworthy can move under their own steam, as it were. Other than his DWARFs, there's not much else but to fret. And feel like he can't help from above. Jemma is down there, and he's got the pair watching out for her. There's naught else he can do there. Daisy's ship is out of the immediate vicinity of danger, but Jemma's isn't. Moving forward to the cabin area, Fitz looks at the controls, his lips moving ever so slightly before he points to a button. "There. On a regular Quin, there's a tractor. It was built by reverse engineering Mr Stark's repulsor." His words are quick, almost lost the brogue. "See if we can't at least tow out of the danger zone." Getting them all out and away, at the very least.. and perhaps giving the ships a hand? "Hey, you lot.. we'll tow you to land with the Quin. It's only a mile or so away. Keep hold, an' let's go."
Jessica Drew	Super-hearing brings her the sound of a ship's engines laboring against the weight of the ocean it is taking on. It spurs Jessica forward through the darkness. Dim green figures form in her night vision of the reluctant passengers imprisoned on the ship. Dredging up the little Hindi she owns, she calls, "Meree aavaaj ka paalan karen. Jaldee aao. Jaldee aao. (Follow my voice. Come quickly) One voice answers, followed by a cacophony of shouted questions and pleas. She grabs the hand of the first man and nearly drops it when she feels the webbing between his thumb and index finger. "Come on. I won't eat you. Oopar, oopar." Pulling the odd feeling hand, she turns back toward the hatch, belatedly remembering the flashlight swinging from her belt. Switched on it reveals dark water slick with oil. She leads the group toward the ladder leading up to the deck.
Jane Foster	Jane arches an eyebrow at Fitz's instruction. "Are you sure the Quinjet can handle the tonnage? We're going to need to get a fix and hope that the structure remains intact long enough." She wraps her sleeve around her thumb and dials up the resolution, angling the HUD when details come into alignment on the projected screen. Projection screens, it's very clear, dislike her. All thank Tony Hawk's awesome repulsor technology. Someone is bound to shake his hand and leave Mr. Stark brutally jealous. The Quinjet struggles but manages to yank the derelict hulk out of trouble long enough to give the other Secret Warriors a platform to stage a rescue on. The fatalities are bound to be few, though still numbered beyond pirates. Still, most are alive for someone or another's navy to rescue. After they reach the island. There's a business of paradise to address.