[b]Neo-Umbrella's Siberian Parking Lot[/b]

"Looks clear. Move on in." As the last few mutants collapsed and the remaining security guards laid down their weapons, the Shadow Eternity commandos closed in to secure them and the warehouse. As they closed in, Second Lieutenant Julius Aldo took charge of enemy prisoner management. "You're with me, Unteralt. Take some electro-cuffs from my pack." he said, offering his pack as he manhandled the five surrendered guards into a close-knit formation. 

Complying with Julius' order, Private Bernd Bachmann reached in and plucked a set of ten metallic half-circles. When he placed a half-circle on both of a prisoner's wrists, the circles completed themselves with another half-circle hidden within the cuffs' casing and magnetically linked one to the other. When all the prisoners were safely secured, Julius spoke to them. His tone sounded incredibly bored and forced, scarcely concealing an ocean of contempt for protocol.

"Ahem, attention prisoners of Shadow Eternity: you, through interfering with Shadow Eternity's motives, are now our prisoners of war. After a determined period of containment and evaluation, you will either be released to your home dimensions, given the choice to join Shadow Eternity in its glorious war against tyranny, or will be summarily executed. To prevent the latter option from being chosen, please... oh, by Zaius... just don't make our jobs any harder. Alright, tell me: do any of you have asthma or any other respiratory illness?" 

One of the guards raised his head and confirmed that he did have asthma. Julius looked to him and frowned.

"Alright, looks like you boys are staying out of the warehouse. Any of you know of a guard house or a checkpoint? Something that's heated?"

Meanwhile, at the warehouse's main entrance, Squads Delta and Beta had taken point at each side of the large garage door. Pelinal Jirich  took a small extending megaphone out of his rucksack and spoke into it. 
"Attention hostiles in the warehouse: come out with your hands up or be neutralized. You have three minutes."

 At that, he pressed his back to the wall alongside his squadmates, and began counting down. Private Ronly Jones flicked the pin on his grenade with barely-concealed anticipation.