Scott's pulse pounded and his breath was quick and shallow with the continuous movement and exertion of rushing through the building at such a frantic pace. Only moments had passed, and already they'd slotted almost two dozen of the opposition, and he'd burned through two P-90 magazines. Swapping out one of the long, flat cassette-like mags, he could feel his frustration rising, much like Zhenya's; they'd been working hard, and still no sign of the prize as yet. He looked up as Jan expertly despatched another hostile, and moved out of cover to follow the squad leader into the next evolution of the mission. 

As the flashbang went off at the door, the burly SAS trooper rolled around the doorframe, the PDW up and already at his shoulder firmly. Someone right in front of him loomed out from behind a filing cabinet, and he slammed his boot firmly into their stomach, sending them clattering back against the furniture, before drilling two rounds into their torso. Another pair got precise shots through the neck and chest, before he hissed a curse and ducked, AK rounds sendind plasterboard and plywood chips across his arms and face. He fired a short burst with the '-90, driving the attacker back into cover behind a desk, which he riddled with rounds, the gunman sprawling out. 
At the command to look around, Scott began to search the space, checking for something, anything that might give them a clue, or any unforseen door or hole in the wall hidden behind a suitable piece of furniture. Nothing emerged, and he turned back to the others as the wall imploded. Yelling in alarm, Scott crouched, folding his arms over his face and head, but still getting a faceful of brick-dust and peppered with splinters of glass. 
Brushing himself off and picking out some of the larger shards - and thanking himself nothing vital had been severed - he looked up wide-eyed and angry, coughing out what seemed like a builders' yard worth of bricks. 
Jan immediately took charge of the situation as Scott wiped dust from his face and eyes, rinsing his mouth with water and spitting it to the ground as he moved over to the gaping hole in the wall, tying his cord off and hesitating a moment. 
"Hang on, idea," he called back, before jamming his knife into one of the plastic cable conduits running around the room. Lifting up the cover with a splintering crack, he pulled on the cables inside, quickly unreeling as much of the brightly-coloured material as he could, and tying it off with the cord. "Won't be much good, but it'll help for long enough," he explained, before testing the tied-together cord and cable with a sharp tug. 
At Jan's word, he nodded and clambered over the jagged edge of the hole, lowering himself down quickly and carefully, gritting his teeth as he expected the ghetto climbing rope to go at any moment. Miraculously making it to the street, he quickly scuttled for cover behind the nearest heavy object; a kerbside recycling dumpster. Bullets were already flying their way, and he gamely returned fire, keeping heads down for the benefit of the others, more than anything else. "I'm down," he called back up. "I'll keep the cover fire up!"