Coulson and Hill have been buddy-captured. Masters is there, too. Like a bitch.



The last thing they remember is the alarm. Loud. Blaring. An interrogation.

But they weren't the ones being interrogated. Men had moved to their aid. There'd been noises; vague noises that felt more echoed than real. Voices. Some familiar, some unfamiliar. And smog. Or was it smoke? Lots and lots of smoke.

The assailants had cheated. That much was undeniable.

A heavy feeling weighs on the minds of both Maria and Coulson. The air still feels thick — wrought with something, or else, perhaps their minds just required further sharpening.

They, rather ironically, find themselves bound to two chairs next to one another. And a third party bound next to them. Anthony Masters is still out and down for the count. A drip of drool edges the corner of his mouth and he snores quietly. The drugs haven't quite worn off for the blonde field agent.

The three chairs rest in front of a large screen on the opposite wall, and cement lines the entirety of the room — including what looks like a very heavy door. A vent at the top of the room has been duct taped shut for some reason. Cameras face the pair in the corners of the room, positioned to watch the trio and ensure their actions are recorded.

Maria awakes groggily, head lolling from side to side as she attempts to come rouse her senses. Her mind is thick and thoughts come through a thick sheet. That is unacceptable. With a jerk, she yanks on her restraints. The chair shakes one way and then another. The sound echoes against the walls. She takes deep breaths to try and clear her mind of whatever it is controlled it. Though her tongue feels thick in her mouth, she leans her head back to see the blurry but unmistakable head of Coulson behind her. "Coulson. Coulson. Wake up." her word come out soft and then too loud.

"This can't get worse," she groans. And then, her head looks to the side to see Masters tied next to them. She sighs. It is worse.

Again, she tests the bonds and pulls at them, eyes take in the screen and the cameras. Her eyes narrow.

"Unfortunately, I'm already awake." The equally unmistakable voice of a gently put-upon Agent Coulson. "And, with all due respect, I could've suggested you don't say that." Worse. It's like the SHIELD call-sign. It just usually doesn't happen on their own territory— quite so often, or so viciously. He thought maybe he'd been having some nice smoke-bomb dreams. Vacation in Tahiti.

Unlike Maria, he visibly tests nothing; only returns the cameras' unflinching observation with the same gentle preoccupation of a person who's merely forgotten where they left their keys.

A woman of action, Maria hates to be tied to a desk in a figurative sense. In a literal one? Well, at least that means there's escape to hopefully be had and then people to blame for it later. Other than Masters. "Well, someone was going to say it. And I think I'd rather it was me than Masters." Her eyes scan the area. "Any clues as to where we are?"

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