Natalya didn't have time to swear. She swung her rifle around as she half crouched, continuing backward, and fired into the dark, twice, in practically opposite directions.

"The bathysphere, we are close," she said, turning to reach out a hand and help the teen up, "keep- Teddy-"

He was pulling himself up, wincing, on a balustrade that was well and thoroughly rotted through. He seemed to notice and was pulling away from it when another of Natasha's small explosives went off down a hallway, and another came flying out of the dark to strike the scrolling ironwork and light up the elevated walkway.

Because there were plasmids that made one telekinetic. To think, she'd almost forgotten.