Henshin watched the periscope cam view as the group began to make their way onward. More than a little concerned about the suspicious surroundings, he had already begun scouting for trouble. The sub's built-in microimpulse radar system (yes, it had both sonar for underwater, and radar for detection on the surface) began sweeping for even the slightest activity or signs of life in the chamber, but came up with nothing.

That was promising. It was such a sensitive device that it could detect the movement of organs in living things. On that note, the old moth took a moment to be nosy about the condition of his team, and, unknown to them, examined their vital signs from afar, half out of concern, and half out of the boredom of being the one left to watch the car (so to speak).

"So, that fish boy does have lungs," he observed idly. (Marine biology was never a focus of his research, at least beyond the dinner table.) "And Power Mariachi could stand to lose a few pounds, before he busts out of that shell any more than he already does..."

So very nosy. But when he reached Toby, he blinked several times and sat up his seat. He zoomed in and rescanned.

"... oh, my."

He shook his head, quickly browsed through his database, recovered the kangaroo rat's name, then picked up the mic for the sub's external loudspeaker, cleared his throat, and pathetically groaned: "Oh, ohhh," he groaned pathetically, faking pain. "I've fallen and I can't get up! Mr. Cotton, could you come back for a moment, and help a poor old man?"

It was a pretty awful ploy, but he hoped it'd work.

The tunnel Badge had directed the group into sloped upward for quite some distance (to understate the matter entirely). It wasn't a terribly steep grade, but it seemed so long that it might have been a tiring ascent on foot after a while. Pipes and thick wires ran along the tunnel's sides; occasional bands of yellow and black caution-tape-like decals encircled the path from floor, to wall, to ceiling. Security cameras could be seen along the ceiling; a red light blinked on them, indicating they were active.

Soon, the path opened up into another room, considerably smaller than the last, but an undoubtedly welcome section of flat, level ground to walk on. To their right, doors with portholes; airlocks, specifically, leading back out to open water. Dead ahead, their little "roadway" they'd been walking continued onward. To their left, a monorail system of some sort began to run parallel to the indoor roadway; from the looks of it, they were in some kind of transportation center, because just beyond the monorail boarding platform, on the other side, were also more elevators.

It was really weird. The place had this way of making it sound like they were just... in a big, metal can, completely alone. Lights continued to buzz, machinery hummed, and every little sound they made reverberated, but there was absolutely, utterly no sign of life or activity otherwise. They might as well have been on another planet, for how occupied and active the facility felt.

That's why it probably came as more of a surprise when the lights dimmed and flickered, and the PA system began to hiss with static. Little control panels embedded in the wall next to the burly airlock doors began to make strange, grating beeps, not unlike an emergency broadcast test, while scrambled text appeared in their displays. Red lights then appeared over the doors, and, counter to any safeguard that should have been built in, they began to open, and water began to roar in through the still-small gap like whitewater rapids, growing constantly.

Would the monorail still work in the rapidly flooding environment? Thankfully, probably. This particular train was a suspended type, hanging from its rail rather than standing on it, which meant all the crucial equipment was toward the top.

Once the group made their way inside, they'd find a control panel with a very simple, very large set of buttons perhaps intended to be operated by robots lacking finer motor skills. It didn't look unlike a CD player's controls, honestly: A big arrow to activate the train, a pause symbol (presumably a "hold"), and a bright red square labeled "EMERGENCY STOP." Three guesses on which they'd want to use right then and there (in the absence of a "get the hell out of here doubletime" button).

Water continued to rush in, and was starting to run inside the open monorail cars as well. The air lock was of limited size, so they had a little time to work with, but not much; the sooner they all got on board, the better off they'd be.

... Hopefully.

Every security camera in the area was pointed at the monorail.

Probably much to Tank's displeasure, the door of the train comically sprang back open with a great, bouncy clatter when he tried to forcibly shut it. It wasn't until he tried the actual button that a pleasant "ping" sound came from somewhere in the train car, and all the doors slid shut and latched of their own accord.

Water sloshed around their ankles as the monorail started smoothly forward, then suddenly lurched up the incline ahead with impressive acceleration, pooling all the salty seawater somewhere near the rear of the car. If they weren't tightly holding onto something, they'd probably all be piled up back there in it. Still, at least they were in motion, and going up, too. It only took seconds for the flooding room to become but a memory, leaving but the dim-lit, narrow tunnel ahead to be worried with.

Orange lights whizzed by on either side. The monorail whirred along smoothly, with just the occasional small jostle as it rounded gentle bends, and kept following the dark, windowless tunnel upward. For a moment, it acted like it was losing power, and the engine seemed to cut, but whatever the disturbance was, it was brief, and the train continued on unhindered.

About a minute later, it leveled out and began braking (again, harshly—it was meant for robots, not people), then came to a halt in that dark, claustrophobic space.

There was a jerk and clank, like the track itself was moving or reconfiguring; a door slammed shut behind them, and water began to flood in all around the monorail. Into what horrible chamber had they been routed? It was hard to tell, but just when it probably began to look like they were sure to be drowned, it became apparent that the vehicle was completely waterproof, and intended to be immersed. Soon enough, a door opened ahead, and shimmering, water-shaded sunlight filtered in as the train zoomed out along its aquatic track, burbling quietly along on its way far beneath the waves in the vivid blue ocean on its way to another wing of the massive facility.

It was an experience, alright—There probably weren't many folks who could claim to have taken a ride on an underwater train. Before anybody could be too elated, though, the "EMERGENCY STOP" button lit up as if someone had pressed it, a loud grinding sound came from the rail overhead, and the train viciously slammed to a halt.

... Stuck. In the ocean.