🚁 Choppa Inbound - Ten minutes
🚁 Choppa Inbound Time: 12:55 PM. Status: Ten minutes. A bead of sweat, salty—naturally—traced a path down Commander “Salty” Flynn’s temple. It wasn't the mid-day sun in this nameless, jungle-choked valley that caused it; it was the digital clock mounted to the wall of the dilapidated concrete structure they were holed up in. 00:09:58 “Alright, misfits!” Salty barked, slamming his fist onto the chipped Formica table. The table, a relic of some long-forgotten pharmaceutical office, vibrated under the impact. “Ten minutes until ‘Choppa Inbound’—our extraction window. If you’re not on the roof pad when that bird touches down, you’ll be sharing a foxhole with the local flora and fauna for the next month. Got it?” The "misfits" were an assortment of highly effective, highly eccentric specialists. First was “Fuse” , a spindly demolitions expert currently fiddling with a complex tangle of wires that looked suspiciously like a broken toaster element connected to a stick of C4...