The enormous vertical-takeoff engines let out a low roar. The massive black fuselage slowly lifted off the ground, tearing through the clouds as it climbed into the sky.
Inside the modified transport aircraft codenamed the "Bus," the atmosphere was somewhat subdued.
May sat in the pilot's seat, both hands gripping the controls. On the other side, Ward tossed down a towel, his combat boots grinding against the nonslip steel floor as he stared at the radar screen.
They were both veteran field agents. A fringe team like theirs, operating outside S.H.I.E.L.D.'s regular structure and requiring special requests even for logistical supplies, had suddenly received an official directive issued directly from headquarters, bypassing the chain of command. There was no way they were being sent on a Hawaiian vacation.
Only Skye seemed out of place. She lounged sideways in a swivel chair, her feet propped on the edge of the console and swinging lazily as she chewed bubble gum. "So, boss? You dragged us all the way up into the sky-what earth-shattering case is it this time? Don't tell me some alien public toilet sprang another leak?"
Fitz and Simmons stood at the laboratory entrance, each holding a clipboard. Coulson walked to the center of the round table and pressed the holographic projection button.
Blue beams crisscrossed in midair, and several images popped up alongside alarm logs from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Triskelion.
"Two hours ago, headquarters went into total lockdown." Coulson looked around at everyone. "Director Nick Fury suffered severe damage to his cranial nerves. He's currently in a deep coma in intensive care."
Skye's bubble gum popped, and the pen in Simmons's hand clattered to the floor.
"Director Fury? Who could hurt him inside the building?"
"This wasn't a conflict among humans. At least, not entirely." Coulson brought up an image of