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“Come on,” you say, “let’s make this as easy as we can for him.” You head over to the protected door of the room and, at Sitwell’s nod, pull it open.
This turns out to have been a grave error.
Outside the door, hundreds of Hydra agents have assembled. Literally hundreds; you can’t see where they end, and they’re already rushing into the room - Natasha takes out maybe five of them while you’re nocking your first arrows; you get three, and you’re not keeping score because frankly, if you both make it out of here alive, you can make up whatever numbers you feel like. Sitwell’s firing a gun somewhere off to your left, and you grimace; there are only so many bullets in his magazine, only so many arrows in your quiver, and Hydra has mxore.
It’s right about then that a swift blow with the butt of a gun catches you on the side of the head and before you know what’s going on, you’re on the floor, twin barrels staring you in the eye.
The last thing that goes through your mind is, sorry about the wasted rescue trip, Bruce.