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phoenyxraine in chosen800

Not your average dive

As her chariot, the UNDINE, dove through the depths of Lake Eerie, Gwen kept one hand on the steering wheel and another on what she had quickly dubbed the ‘joystick’ - for lack of a better term - that caused the underwater apparatus to rise or fall. While she was on the plane to Ohio, one of Wolfram and Hart’s operatives had blathered on and on about how the brassy metal one-woman diving machine was the Initiative’s high tech solution to the human torpedo that originated during World War II. Not much interested in an impromptu history lesson, Gwen had quickly terminated that line of conversation in favor of how to control the submersible beetle.

Now, as she sat alone in her stolen underwater vehicle, it seemed all she could remember were bits of nautical babble and Italian commando frogmen blah de blah blah.

“Good thing I’m ace with video games.”

She rolled her eyes, then pushed the joystick forward and eased further into the murky depths.

After what seemed like ages of sinking, she arrived before the section of the stone-faced wall that she was told disguised the entrance to the Cleveland Initiative’s Headquarters. She blinked the chariot’s headlights in a series of long and short flashes.


In response, wavelengths shot upwards and downwards on her meter as a voice came over the radio.


Gwen punched the numerical code into a keypad on her ‘dashboard’, and seconds later, the voice came back over the comm.

“Lieutenant Marjorie Williams. Welcome back.”

A portal opened up before her as the rock face shifted aside, and Gwen carefully maneuvered her chariot into the waiting holding chamber. Red lights flashed to signal that the outer door was still not secure while she set the UNDINE down. A push of a button extended metal legs which quickly attached to the cement floor.

The lights remained red as the door locked up tight and the water inside the chamber drained. Once the room was dry, they switched over to green, and the glass door which made up the inner door slid aside. Gwen took off her seatbelt.

“Welcome back, Flapjack. You had us worried there for a minute,” came a voice from outside the UNDINE.

Gwen shoved against the porthole above her, grunted, and banged a fist against it.

“Can you give me a hand? I think this damn thing’s stuck,” she shouted.

She listened to the man’s footsteps as he ascended the rungs built into the side of the chariot. He grabbed hold of the circular handle.

“These old clunkers, when do you think they’re gonna upgr—“

Electricity seized his next words, but Gwen caught him before he went crashing down three stories.

“The rate the big G moves? Probably never.”

She heaved his body into the chariot then locked the door on him. She climbed down the side of the UNDINE and dropped down onto the ground. Posthaste, Gwen dashed to a narrow doorway to the left, fried the electric lock, and crept inside. Behind the door sat an older man in uniform half-dozing and half-surveying a multitude of screens.

“What are--?” he started.

Gwen’s hand came down on his shoulder and it was lights out for him shortly after.

Pushing him aside, she gave a quick once over to all of the different screens and matched them up with the map indicated on her mini computer. Once she was satisfied with her route, she put both palms down on the surveillance system’s main display. Buzzing and snapping noises filled the room as it shorted out.

“Sorry, show’s been cancelled.”

Gwen patted the sleeping soldier before tying him securely to his chair and sticking tape over his mouth.

“But maybe if you cry about it enough and write lots of letters, you’ll get a comic book series out of it.”


Gwen's eyes roved over the soldiers that had come to see her off. She bit her lip as she sized each of them up. They didn't have full combat gear, but what they did have on was more than enough. And they all had guns. Guns that were trained on her. She quickly took tally of their personalities based on her limited information - what they'd said, their body language (always more difficult with military types since they were trained to move in certain ways), and their ranking.

Phage - polite, maybe overly so, seemed a little nervous and less willing to blast her to pieces
Roadkill - motormouth, liked the sound of his own voice and joking around.
Guy behind her - serious enough to cut the chatter, might be in charge, might be a second-in-command type
Scotsman - Cassanova, or at least fancied himself one, and likely to underestimate a female opponent, unless he was toying with her

Four total. The odds weren't so bad, except for the fact that she wasn't looking to electrocute anyone tonight. This was a dive in/jump out sort of gig - no soldiers were to be harmed in the making of this heist. Well, at least not made extra-crispy, anyway.

She smiled innocently at the Scotsman.

"Love what you've done with the place."

Slowly she held her hands up as if in surrender. She turned one empty palm up toward the ceiling, making sure that all eyes were on her.

"But it could use some better lighting."

Gwen cracked a smile, threw her hand up above her head, and treated the boys to a light-show - a blinding bolt of electricity aimed for the ceiling. In the ensuing darkness, Gwen immediately dropped down low and grabbed for Phage's legs.

"Sorry, sweetie," she whispered.

But at the point where she should have been knocking the poor guy unconscious, she was holding air instead. With the entry to the grate free, she dove into the tunnel and back into the emergency drainage room. She broke into a run for the pumps. With hardly a glance over her shoulder, she cut open the side of one of the metal tubes with white-hot electricity. Once the hole was big enough, she squirmed into the tube.

A look upward revealed that the pipe went up too far for her to be able to tell if Wes had done his job or not. She unholstered her grappling gun and aimed. She was either about to see sunlight again or get a face full of falling hook when it bounced off the lid. If it was the latter? Wes was going to get a face full of her fist.

When the hook didn't return, Gwen smiled, held on tight, and hit the release on the gun.