"Hell's asshole." It was the best response there was for Tony's answerless question, since where did anything come from in this dump? There wasn't actually any reason for any of it.
Firing off a sonic arrow at a swooping cluster of the short nosed little shits, Clint had to check the reserves on his arrows again, cursing under his breath. As much as Rosa and Robert had been able to come up with some decent substitutes for his usual artillery, they just weren't the same as the arsenal he was used to. No explosives, no boom.
They weren't fast, and Clint didn't find it difficult to knock them out of the sky with an arrow to the squishy bits. But they didn't seem to actually stay the hell down. Which was an issue. "So, flappy bird, you think this is revenge for that?"