Tony checks his devices and radio, waiting for his backup to arrive. The wait is long and slow, so slow that he starts drifting off to sleep. He then gets an alert, the aircraft and ground forces have been delayed by a few hours. He wasn’t exactly sure how long the serum and tranquilizers are supposed to last, but he was sure that a delay was not a good thing. He contemplated on what to do as something else caught his attention: one of the teens was scratching at his neck and removing his clothing. He moved quickly to separate them, hoping that at least they couldn’t infect each other, but it looked like all of them started to develop. He checked his equipment to find that the dosage was waaaaaaay off and that the solution he had was extremely diluted, almost like someone had sent him in only to fail. And if it couldn’t get any worse, the already turned werewolves he once called his friends were starting to stir in the cage. He had no choice but to radio in an emergency. He was absolutely livid describing the situation to the Lab.
“Agent 92T, what’s the problem? You have a backup squad en route…”
“Is this how you run a fucking operation doctor? Everything’s gone to shit, I’m out of ammo, the tranqs are ineffective, and the serum is diluted so bad it might as well be water. The fuck am I supposed to do now?”
“Calm down agent, where is your backup crew?”
“The fuck should I know bitch? They got delayed 2 fucking hours, I’ll be surprised if I last 10 minutes.”
“Delayed? What do you mean delayed?”
“My GPS is telling me that both the ground and air squads are held up about an hour north of here, they aren’t moving currently.”
That didn’t sound right, the squads she sent were top notch, she didn’t want a brand new agent dealing with the duds, there was something worse at play here than originally perceived.
“92T, your mission of retrieval of the subjects has been postponed. Your current objective is to survive, rendezvous with the ground squad ASAP, and don’t die. Do I make myself clear?”
“Roger.”
The call ends abruptly, with 92T slamming his earpiece against the monitor. He had to salvage the equipment and set them to blow in hopes that at least he could do enough damage while they’re all contained to distract them. He had to get as much of a head start as he could, so he grabbed a survival pack, a few protective items, a GPS tracker, and his pocket device, and rigged everything else up to contain and explode. He took a moment to shed a tear for the lost kids he couldn’t save and pressed a button as the teens grew fur, breasts, and canine dicks to match the creatures in the cage. He bolted as fast as he could to where the ground squad was stationed as his gear exploded behind him. He didn’t slow down for a second, running as fast as an Olympic sprinter, fueled only on fear and survival.