The hectic chaos was bordering on the comical, in a horrible kind of way.

"It wants— I don't know it's— I don't know, it wants a password or somethin'?" blurted Casey desperately in between Pax's own ramble as he flailed his arms in the air and tried to get his woefully big body out of the seat and out of the agent's way. "It says it needs authenticity! I mean identification! I mean authentication!"

He was a little frazzled.

Ivan was sure to get out of the way when the robot before them fired that huge beam of chaos energy. Luckily for him, he had dove in the opposite direction than the beam was dragged, seeing as Geoff was the target. Not so luckily, for any of them, they were in a hallway. Not the most efficient places to fight when you can't fire huge beams.

Ivan drew closer, flanking as best he could in the small corridor. He unsheathed his sword, hoping to close in before it redirected it's attention, and swung his sword down on it's main beam-shooting arm.

Ivan had a pretty stellar track record for dealing with robots that day, but in this particular case, his attack was met with surprising grace and brutality on the machine's part. Just as in the stereotypical scene of one crossing a street only to get broadsided by an offscreen truck, the rabbit's jumping slash was interrupted by a side-swiping shield as the robot ceased firing and instantly turned and swatted with its big, heavy metal shield-bearing arm. The motion was crisp, powerful, and fluid; an Egg Hammer this was not.

It leapt back a quick rocket-assisted hop while its gunarm hissed and cooled, heat distortion appearing in the air above it. It did not yet make any aggressive movements; it was just waiting to cool and recharge so it could blast them with another beam, all the while keeping its shield held in front of it.

Ivan was in fact smacked far enough away that the incoming grenade probably wouldn't hit him. At least, not with the explosion. But with frag grenades like that, it was the shrapnel you need to worry about. And none of them were terribly safe, with that in mind. Ivan scrambled to his feet, backing away. He reached into his pocket, pulling out one of those shiny rings he'd hoovered up.

Based on historical accounts, luck always seemed to shine on those who held at least one of those glistening dimes. Time to see if there was any truth to that.

"Warning: Current depth: 275 meters. Hull pressure is at approximately 28 atmospheres. Maximum operating depth is 290 meters. Rate of descent: 1 meter per second."

Unfortunately, the E-2000's shield was huge, coffin-esque, and made realtime adjustments with computerized speed. Fortunately, grenades aren't all that bouncy and rubbery, so it didn't make a world of difference whether the grenade struck robot or shield, as it just went "clank" either way and fell heftily to the metal floor before exploding.

The sheer explosive force actually managed to knock the robot back several steps and scar its shield, but, as Jack predicted, it didn't do a whole lot else. Truly, if Tyra hadn't been injured and her original toss had gone where she wanted it, she'd probably be getting a medal rather than the Fun and Safety with Explosives class.

In the meantime, the E-2000 suddenly shifted posture. It discreetly raised its gun arm behind its shield in preparation, then lifted itself off the ground with the boosters in its feet and essentially shield-rushed through the small corridor like a flying battering ram, headed straight for the door they were supposed to be defending.

But what about Fenn's actions? The "withdraw" command?

Computers were frustrating, and just plain difficult at times. It affirmed the command, but didn't seem to do anything. If he hit it again, it would return an error stating that the E-2000 had already returned to its facility of origin. Apparently, the Orca was its "home" and, being that most Eggman robots had little sense of self-preservation, it was not programmed with any further concept of retreat beyond "return to base."

At least Pax's struggle went a little bit more easily. Much like the other console, the helm interface (which, besides the myriad controls, also consisted of a large touchscreen) unlocked after just ten or so seconds' password cracking.

"Warning: Never-exceed depth has been reached! Current depth: 290 meters. Hull pressure is in excess of 29 atmospheres! Rate of descent: 1 meter per second. Continued hull integrity cannot be ensured at this depth. Approaching crush depth."

...

The password turned out to be the same one that had just unlocked the other console! They could have skipped the process entirely. The ship began to groan. As the windscreen cracked, visibly and audibly right in front of them, a set of metal blast doors snapped down quickly. Even still, water began to leak through them profusely, running all across the floor of the ship's bridge and over Casey, Pax, Desmond, and Fenn's feet.

"Git-git-GIT-GIT I got this!!"

If Pax was not out of the way, he'd probably get half-sat-upon by the big boar, who occupied the seat as if his life depended on it, which it did.

The process looked a little clumsy with one arm, but he did the best he could with it. The sweat rolled off his brow as he struggled to read the tiny labels on switches and levers and navigate the touchscreen interface to find what he needed.

"Ballasts, ballasts, ballasts," he muttered breathlessly. "This ain't like any submarine I ever been on!"

Maybe he did something right, because there came the sound of a great rushing of air, and the ship lurched and bucked, and groaned even louder under new strain, as it seemed to change direction. Given that they had no visual of the outside world and no point of reference, though, it was hard to tell if they were going up, or rolling over, or what just yet.

While Jack's revolver rounds may not have had robot-armor-punchin' power, she was able to place them with a great deal of accuracy and, in this case, creativity, and it paid off in spades when several of the shots went up the E-2000's thruster exhaust.

Sparks shot out, and there was a pretty nasty sound as the robot suddenly dropped to the floor. One of the thrusters she hit seemed okay after the initial sputter, but the other one immediately flamed out. This actually made matters worse as the one continued firing, sending the robot wildly off-kilter and into a mean-looking, loud-clanging tumble across the floor.

It crashed and clattered out of control for a good fifteen feet before righting itself and finishing out the rest of the stop in a surprisingly graceful-looking backward skid on both feet, facing the way it had come from, both thrusters deactivated. The instant it stopped, it evaluated the nearest threat. If anything was drawing too near, it'd move to swat it away with its shield, and then aim to let loose another enormous, six-foot-wide beam down the corridor, this time back at Jack, who had successfully earned its ire.

On the handheld computer, Fenn found that the "Aggressiveness" settings would adjust whether it would take a defensive (zone-protecting) stance, or an offensive (pursuit and interception of hostiles) approach. It also included a preference on range of engagement. Perhaps helpful, but nothing super game-changing just yet.